Nornir
by jikanet-tanaka
Summary: "'What the hell did that bastard get us into,' Stocke muttered to himself. He knew he wouldn't have the answer today, however – if he did get to have the answer at all. With a shrug, he followed after Eruca, not knowing that the invisible cogs of fate had slowly begun to grind to a start." A Radiant Historia/Persona Crossover. Has huge spoilers for the end of RH.
1. Arcana 00 - The Fool

_**Disclaimer:** Radiant Historia and Persona both belong to Atlus~_

* * *

 _"The first card, numbered 0, is the Fool. It represents the beginning and suggests infinite possibilities."_

 _Edogawa-sensei, Persona 3._

* * *

As usual, Eruca was up before the rest of her family.

She knew her brother was probably awake as well, but on weekends he was rarely out of his room before nine. Their mother, for her part, slept well past eleven on Saturday and Sunday mornings. She spent each Friday evening going out with her girlfriends, and she always came home in the middle of the night, dead drunk and in a stupidly good mood. The following mornings she was invariably afflicted by hellish hangovers, but, in her own words, this was nothing a good cup of coffee couldn't fix.

Eruca didn't mind spending her mornings alone. By 8 o'clock, she was dressed and ready to go to her weekly archery club practise, with one hour to spare. As she finished eating breakfast, she side-glanced at the pile of dishes stockpiled in the sink with a critical eye. With a sigh, she decided to head back to her room. She'd do the dishes after she'd come home from her practise (meaning: when Ernst or Mom would be up and about).

Eruca's cat Musket, a birthday gift from her mother, brother and uncle, was making little snores by the feet of her bed. Eruca kissed the soft white fuzz of the kitten's head, just in-between the adorable triangle-shaped ears, then gathered her laundry, stealing one last look at the mirror on her dresser to make sure her hair still looked presentable. She carefully balanced the basket on one hip as she descended the stairs, on tiptoes so she would not wake her mother; she nearly sent it all flying when the loud thrill of the doorbell rang out loud and clear.

Eruca gripped her laundry basket tighter, looking at the door with eyes as round as saucers. It was barely past 8, and a Saturday morning to boot. Who on Earth would think of visiting at such an hour?

Eruca put the basket on the floor and walked up to the door, uneasy. Her hand was barely touching the knob when the doorbell rang out again. Eruca ignored the startled jolt that rippled through her at the sound and pushed the door open.

The man who stood before her was rather tall, so much that she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. Eruca stared at him for several long seconds, before recognition slowly started to sink in. The person she remembered always looked impeccable, with a neatly trimmed beard running alongside his jaw and a crooked smile worthy of a movie star. This was not the case with the man looming over her now. Instead of one of his numerous designer's suits, he was wearing a long and dirty rain coat, with a red cap casting shadows on his usually intense blue eyes. She scrunged up her nose at his smell, and looked away. _What is_ he _doing here?_

"Father," Eruca managed to say. "Um..."

"Eruca." The man's arm snaked across the distance between them to grab Eruca's wrist. His other arm was holding a package wrapped in brown paper. "Good. I was afraid that it would be your mother or worse, your..."

"You're not supposed to be here," Eruca said. Immediately, she thought of her brother, probably still in bed with no idea of what was going on. "I mean—"

Father cut her off with a chuckle. "Oh, don't be a bore like your mother, sweetie. I'm not doing anything wrong, am I? A father is entitled to see his daughter once in a while, right?"

Eruca's lips thinned to a line, but she swallowed the obvious reply. Ernst would have had the guts to say it to his face.

"Why are you here?" she said instead, sighing. "You really shouldn't—"

"Eruca," Father interrupted her again. He stepped closer to her, and Eruca evaded his gaze when his hand came to rest upon her shoulder. "There is a little something you can do for me, sweetie. Do you think you could help me?"

Before she could open her mouth to reply, he had thrust the brown parcel in her arms.

Eruca blinked as she looked at the package in her hands. From the corner of her eyes, she could see her father smiling, but she couldn't find in herself the will to return his expression.

"Father, what is this?" she finally asked.

"Oh, nothing, really," Father said. He shrugged. "I've been looking through your grandfather's stuff lately. You know how much junk the old man has left us."

"If it's just some junk, then why do you want me to look after it?"

Father chuckled again. The sound grated at Eruca's ears.

"Always the curious one, are you?" From his tone, it seemed he hadn't meant it as a compliment. "Just keep an eye on it for a while. You don't even need to tell your mother. It won't be for long, trust me."

Eruca frowned. "I don't want any trouble. Don't you have friends who can help you?"

She immediately knew it hadn't been the thing to say.

Father's smile froze, and his hand tightened around Eruca's shoulder. She stared at her feet, miserable, knowing well what was next.

"Why is it always so hard to ask a little favour from you lot?" Father's voice was dark with reproach. "It's not much. You wouldn't even be able to afford most of that fancy stuff," he motioned over to their house and Mom's car in the driveway, "if it wasn't for the money I have to send your mother. Really, I'm not asking for much in return."

Eruca only continued to examine the tip of her slippers. His hand was heavy on her shoulder. She felt the familiar sense of guilt creeping up on her. "Father, I... well, Mom says you're not even supposed to be here..."

"Eruca? Who's that you're talking to?"

Eruca's head shot up, her heart swelling, and she looked behind her. Indeed, as she had hoped, her brother was halfway through the stairs. His gaze went from sleepy to steel cold in the span of a heartbeat. It was amazing to see just how threatening Ernst could manage to look even in old torn-up pajamas and puppy-shaped slippers (a gift from their mother). Father's hand slipped from Eruca's shoulder. She let out the breath she had been holding for the past minute.

"You. What are you doing here?" Ernst said as he slided over to Eruca's side. To just about anyone his tone would have sounded rather neutral, but Eruca knew better.

Father was aware of Ernst's anger as well – he _had_ to be. Still, he managed to school his lips into a smile. "Ah, Ernst, my boy, long time no see. I was having a little chat with your sister. It's been a while, isn't it? Is everything going well in your life? You're going to be a senior when the semester starts, aren't you?"

Ernst was clearly not interested in broaching the subject of school – or any other subject, it seemed. "You're not allowed to be here. Get lost."

Eruca bit down her lip. Already, she could see that their father had risen up to take up the bait.

"I don't remember your mother and I raising you to be so flippant," the man said in a growl. "Is it your uncle who taught you to be that insolent?"

"There's nothing wrong with the way Mom raised me," was all Ernst said. "Or with what Uncle taught me."

Father flared his teeth, but in response Ernst only folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe, the perfect picture of the cheeky, bored teen. The red pajamas and slippers only completed the ensemble.

"I didn't take a flight halfway across the continent only to have my own son behave like the worst of brats," Father finally said. "Fine. I'll go."

"Yes," Ernst said. "Mom put us half a continent away from you for a reason. Have a nice trip back home." His eyes were two pools of blue-green ice.

Both of Father's hands tightened into fists. Ernst raised a brow, and he stepped forward, putting himself between the man and Eruca. Father took the hint; without another word he turned on his feet and stomped towards the wreck of a car he must have used to get here.

The two siblings waited before the red vehicle was well out of sight before they headed back inside.

"Good thing all this fuss didn't wake Mom up," Eruca said with a sigh. "She would have been _furious_..."

"And Uncle would have gone directly for the shotgun." A corner of Ernst's mouth quirked into one of these funny little half-smiles he was so prone to make. "What's that he's given you?"

"Oh, this?" Eruca wondered whether or not she should open the package. The whole matter just made her queasy. She shifted back and forth on her spot, unsure, before finally giving Ernst the brown parcel so he could inspect it. "I have no clue. He wanted us to look after it."

Ernst grunted and rolled his eyes. "Of course he did."

"What should we do?" Eruca asked. "I mean, what was all of this about? He was acting very strange."

Ernst raised a brow.

"I mean, stranger than usual," Eruca clarified.

"I can take care of this it if you want," Ernst said. "Just go get your things or else you'll be late for your practise."

"Oh! I'd completely forgotten about that!" Eruca hid her face in her hands, groaning. "Damn him! I'm going to be late!"

Ernst grinned that lazy grin of his, and he mussed up her hair. "Don't worry about it. I can drive you there."

Eruca squeezed his arm. "Oh, thank you, Ernst! I wouldn't have made it in time if I'd gone on my own!"

Ernst stayed under the doorway, brown parcel in hands, as he watched her run up the stairs. Now that she could not see him, he allowed himself a frown. The whole damned thing left him strangely uneasy.

"What the hell did that bastard get us into?" Stocke muttered to himself. He knew he wouldn't get the answer today, however – if he _did_ get to have the answer at all. With a shrug, he followed his sister, not knowing that the invisible cogs of fate had slowly begun to grind to a start.

* * *

 _ **Author's notes**_ : I'm trying a little something, here, mostly because I love these two universes so much. If you have any ideas/criticisms, feel free! Thank you for reading!


	2. Arcana I - The Magician

_"The next card, the Magician, represents action and initiative… but also immaturity."_

 _Edogawa-sensei, Persona 3._

* * *

A screech pierced through the haziness of morning. Stocke groaned against his pillow, his arm shooting up to fight the source of the noise. His foe was an elusive one, and his hand failed to connect with its mark again and again despite his best efforts. Finally, with one decisive swipe, he hit his target, and the alarm clock went deathly silent. Stocke sighed. For a few moments, he considered throwing the damn thing against the wall.

Propping himself on one arm, Stocke peeked through the drapes on his window. The sky was a dark grey and the tree in front of his room was furiously whipping back and forth as rain poured outside. He buried his face into the pillow, sighing yet again. There was no time to set out for the bathroom, and so Stocke paused only to look at the door leading to his mother's bedroom; he noted with a bit of dry amusement that he could hear the dissonant melody of her snoring over the shrieks of her own alarm clock coming from her room. As usual, Sophia Stocke, attorney-at-law, was a hard one to rouse.

One look to the empty bed in the room next to hers told him it was not the case with his little sister. Of course, Stocke knew Eruca was already up and about. When he got to the top of the stairs, he could indeed hear the sound of the bacon sizzling on the stove and the chatter of the radio from below. Eruca, the ever-dutiful daughter, prepared breakfast for their little family every morning (not to mention their mother's much-sought first cup of coffee). Stocke was barely halfway through the stairs when the lovely aromas of Eruca's cooking floated up to his nostrils. His mouth watered at the delicious smells.

"Good morning, Ernst!" Eruca wore her new uniform not without some pride. The middle school they'd both attended was rather small and much less prestigious than St. Noah's, and so she had fretted all summer long about the start of the semester. "Did you sleep well?"

Stocke offered a shrug in response and made for the stove to help her. Eruca immediately began chattering about inconsequential things - she asked him how he slept, what he wanted for breakfast - which was rather unusual. As he flipped one pancake over, Stocke noticed she kept fiddling with the silver wristwatch Mom had given her for her last birthday. He gave her a fond look, although she didn't seem to notice. She was still too nervous, Stocke surmised.

He was munching down a bit of bacon, frying pan in hands, when their mother finally came down the stairs, yawning her head off. She made straight for the cup of coffee Eruca had put on the table.

"Morning, Mom," said Stocke.

Sophia's reply was a plaintive groan. "Why, oh, why does he have to come and get you so early? Why did I think that was a good idea?"

The siblings glanced at one another, Eruca hiding a smile behind her hand.

"You could always have slept in a little more," Stocke said. "You're your own boss. You didn't have to get up the same time as us."

Sophia took a great gulp of coffee, then grimaced. "I had to. My only daughter's starting high school, after all." Her lower lip wobbled a little. "My baby! Starting high school!"

The tips of Eruca's ears went red and she tugged at the bracelet of her watch again. Stocke couldn't help but shake his head and smile.

The doorbell rang before any of them could place another word.

"Must be Uncle," Eruca said. "Go get the door, Ernst, I'll handle the cooking."

Sophia buried her face in her hands. " _Mmh_ ," she agreed feebly. "Get the door. Let her handle the cooking." She then slumped over the table.

Stocke sighed and walked up to the door, unable to summon much enthusiasm. He swung it open, and it was with the longest face imaginable that he greeted the man who was standing outside, umbrella in hands. He was a good head shorter than Stocke, with greying brown hair that stuck out everywhere and glasses that seemed about to slip off his rather long nose. The man's face broke into a grin, and he raised a hand in greetings.

"Good morning, neph—"

Stocke slammed the door in his face.

Eruca and Sophia both gave a gasp. Stocke drew his mouth into a thin line, let out another sigh and opened the door once more.

Uncle was fuming on his spot. "You ingrate child! What was that all about?"

Stocke squinted down at the man. "You seemed too happy for someone who had us get up so early on a Monday morning. It's indecent."

Uncle scowled. The expression was oddly petulant and rather out of place on someone his age. "I'm doing this out of the goodwill of my heart, you know? You can always suffer the joys of public transport, if that's what you prefer."

Stocke wouldn't have minded taking the bus, but he kept that particular information to himself.

"Oh, stop it, you two," came a voice from behind. Sophia was soon at Stocke's side, her coffee mug still in hands. "Hello, Harry, dear. I do appreciate what you do for my babies." She directed a pointed glare in Stocke's direction. "Even if half of them clearly don't."

"I have to get my stuff," Stocke only said.

Sophia pinched his cheek. " _Oof_. Stop mumbling, sweetie. Try to articulate a little." She swatted his arm playfully. "So grumpy. So stand-offish. The girls are gonna pounce on you this year, I know it."

"Mom—"

"—if they haven't started already, that is."

" _Mom_ —"

Uncle pushed his glasses up his nose. "Leave the poor boy alone, Sophie." He then said under his breath something that suspiciously sounded like _'he's too young for that kind of things anyway'_.

"You guys!" Eruca called out from the kitchen. "We're going to be late!"

"She's right," Sophia said. "Scoot along, sweetie, go, go, go!" She pushed Stocke towards the stairs and the latter rushed to his room. He paused only to give a scratch to Eruca's cat Musket, who had greeted him upstairs with a little meow.

Stocke's grin dissipated at the sight of his room. He just hadn't found the time to tidy up the place lately. His school stuff had been left in a haphazard pile on his desk. Stocke glared at the stack of manuals and notebooks, and threw it all in his bag without any attempt to sort it out.

When he came back downstairs Stocke realized with mounting horror that his mother had whipped up a camera from somewhere. Before he could make his escape, Sophia had seized him by the scruff of the neck; she stuck him next to Eruca and gave an inhumanly high-pitched noise.

"Don't I get a picture?" was all she said. Her eyes were big and shiny. "The two of you, all dapper in your school uniforms?"

"Well..." Eruca began.

"Do we really have a choice?" Stocke said.

Sophia giggled like a little girl. Stocke glanced down at Eruca; his sister was the picture perfect of poise, but her eyes were a little glazed over.

"You two look so smart!" Sophia said. The camera flashed over and over. "Although, would it kill you to smile a little, Ernst?"

Stocke nodded gravely. This did prompt a little chuckle from Eruca.

"Fine, then, be a grouch," Sophia said. "I guess I should really let you go, now." She turned to Uncle and added in a conspiratorial whisper, "don't worry, Harry, I'll make you some copies."

"I don't need any pictures," Uncle said, eyes narrowing. "Why do you think I'd want any pictures?"

Stocke could only exchange a look with Eruca at so big of a lie. Uncle's office at work was littered with pictures of the two of them.

Sophia finally brought both of her children into a hug. "You take good care of my kids out there," were her parting words to Uncle. "And you two have a wonderful day!" She gave a peck on the cheek to each sibling.

Soon, Stocke and Eruca followed their uncle as the man all but ran up to his car, muttering curses about the cold and the rain.

"At least she didn't cry this time," Stocke said as he opened the passenger door for Eruca, shielding her from the rain with the jacket of his uniform. "She cried the day I started high school, remember?"

Eruca laughed. "I remember." Her smile grew impish. "Uncle did too."

The man in question was already seated behind the wheel; they saw his head poke out of the car window. "I did _not_ ," he said, scowling. Eruca only chuckled louder in response.

"Don't worry, we'll never tell," Stocke said as he took place beside him.

"You better," Uncle growled.

The car started up with a low purr, and Uncle drove them out of the driveway without another word. Stocke had to squint to see up ahead; the rain was so intense he could barely make out the outlines of the other cars, only their headlights flashing in the gloom.

The weather only worsened when they got onto the boulevard that would lead them to downtown Alistel. Uncle's scowl noticeably deepened, and his fingers began to drum against the steering wheel. The traffic was thicker than usual, the cars all but forced to a crawl. Stocke sighed, and rummaged through his bag for his headphones and portable music player. He frowned as he passed each of his textbooks. There was one he didn't recognize; the book was thick, with a rigid, intricate cover. A complex mosaic of gold lines – made of _real_ gold, Stocke was startled to find – were etched in the leather, and vivid green jewel-like objects were embossed at each of the four corners. Stocke stared at the thing, dumbfounded. _What in the world...?_

"I hope I'll fit in," Eruca was saying from the backseat. "Perhaps I should try to get on the school council?"

Uncle grunted in response. He gave Stocke a surreptitious glance.

"You'll be fine," Stocke said at his uncle's prompting. "Keep a good attitude and no one's gonna bother you."

"You sure?"

"School council seems like a good idea," Stocke replied, shifting in his seat. He really was bad at this. "That, or join a club. It'll help break the ice, I guess."

"I see," Eruca said. She seemed halfway satisfied with Stocke's answer.

The car came at a stop. The red traffic light blazed ominously in the mist. Soon, it switched to green, and the droplets of rain scattered the vivid colour against the grey gloom. For a moment, Stocke's bored gaze followed the sparkles of green, his eyes settling somewhere over his uncle's shoulder.

He heard the other car before his eyes could even comprehend what was happening.

Tires screeched against wet asphalt. Stocke hadn't realized it, but his hands were gripping his uncle's arm, his fingernails digging into the fabric of the man's sleeves. A high-pitched scream tore through the air. Someone's arm encircled Stocke's form, and there was the shriek of metal being twisted and ripped apart.

A hot, thick liquid splattered in Stocke's face. His eyes and ears gave way afterwards. He was only aware of pain, pure, undiluted pain, before the nothingness finally came to claim him.

* * *

The ringing in his ears was the first thing Stocke noticed.

"...date of birth... so that'd make him thirty-nine and..."

"...any address? Phone numbers?"

"...what about the... found... yet?"

The voices were faint, almost too faint for Stocke to hear. His sight was blurry, and a glaring white light pulsated somewhere to his right. Something cold drizzled down his brow. Stocke grit his teeth together; with this seemingly simple movement came pain, at first diffuse and faint, but then it grew stronger, piercing at his chest with long, thin needles. Soon, his whole being was enveloped by a white-hot sense of burning. Muffled screams scraped at his throat. His chest heaved, his limbs shook. The effort tightened his throat, making it impossible for him to breathe.

"...the boy! He's come to his senses!"

Dark silhouettes stood out against the light. People were encircling him.

"How many... you see...?"

"...your name? Can you tell us...?"

Stocke thrashed in place. Something was binding him to the surface he was laying upon. Moans of pain filtered through his mouth.

Two oval blurs the colours of human skin were hovering over him. Their mouths were moving, red and white fissuring the flesh-coloured shapes. They began to move him towards the blinding light; the sounds of wheel scratching against the ground came to his ears. Stocke fought against the bindings that tied him down. The sounds of screams and of a long screech – tires scraping against the road – were blaring in his ears.

Voices came from his right. "Found it! Eruca Stocke-Heiss... age..."

"...fifteen? God... younger than my son... must have started school today..."

Stocke's vision was beginning to settle. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a long black bag being loaded on a stretcher. His heart began to thump painfully against his chest. To his right, a few human-shaped blurs were gathering around a dark item on another stretcher. A long pale thing – a human arm – slipped out of the black bag. The silver wristwatch caught the glint of the morning sun, scattering bits of light everywhere.

Stocke's breath caught in his throat.

"...can you tell us your...?" the voice above him said. "...age? ...contact your parents..."

Stocke couldn't speak, couldn't draw another breath. He trembled from head to toes, the tremors sending waves of bitter pain to stiff, unresponsive limbs. He choked on his words. Something warm and thick bubbled out of his mouth instead. He tasted the bitter, coppery tang. A _thump-thump-thump_ pounded in his ears, nearly drowning the shrills that still rang within his eardrums. Liquid fire seemed to flow in his veins.

"...calm down! Calm down, kiddo!"

"Hold him down! Keep him still!"

White flames invaded Stocke's eyesight. Something was pressing down his thorax, perforating his lungs with needle-thin claws. Fire burned through his chest, and when he opened his mouth to scream, only blood invaded his mouth. With the last bit of air in his body, he managed to breathe out the names of the two who had been with him, the two who surely couldn't be—

And darkness swirled over him, devouring the harsh white light.

* * *

Stocke opened his eyes to a world of blue.

He was sitting on a plush velvet chair. Stocke's fingers brushed against the soft blue fabric, and he startled, almost as if he expected to find another texture under his fingertips. He swallowed a gulp of air – the movement was strangely painful – and looked to his surroundings.

The chair in which he was sitting appeared to be on a platform of some sort. Other platforms of grey slate floated in the void that surrounded him. The empty space itself wouldn't have been strange to his eyes – it appeared to be a starry sky of some sort – _except_ a starry sky wouldn't be so intense of a blue. The hue was electric, and so bright it was almost painful to look at it.

"What the hell?" Stocke managed to say, rubbing sore eyes with his knuckles. "Where am I?"

"You, dear boy, are in the Velvet Room," a voice came from in front of him.

With a start, Stocke whipped his head towards the voice. A table stood only a few paces away from his chair - how had he not noticed before? Behind the table, Stocke counted three people with long, pointed ears. The two children who stood at each side of the table were dressed in robes the same shade of blue as the starry, alien sky. Their amber eyes were fixed on him in a way that was rather unnerving. Still, the strangest of the three was without a doubt the old man seated in the intricately carved wood chair just behind the desk. His bloodshot eyes bulged out of their sockets, but what was most eerie was his grin, showing two long rows of perfectly white teeth under a nose of impossible proportion. Stocke shrank back into his armchair, staring back at the man with suspicion and a bit of apprehension.

"Where are my manners?" the strange old man said with a chuckle. "I am Igor." One of his bony arms swept over, motioning to their strange surroundings. "And this is the Velvet Room. Welcome."

Stocke gripped the arms on his chair tighter. He kept his mouth shut.

"What is your name?" one of the children – the girl – said. Her light brown hair cascaded down her back. "What shall we call you?"

Stocke swallowed, glaring at the bizarre trio from under furrowed brows, and managed to croak, "Stocke. I'm Stocke."

The other child – the boy – pulled a parchment from thin air. "That won't be enough," he said. "We need your full name to complete the contract."

"Contract?" Stocke said in a hiss. He half-rose from his chair. "What's that about a contract?"

The old man gave a little laugh as the two children exchanged a look. Stocke grit his teeth together.

"Your use of the White Chronicle brought you to us," the girl said. "Still, before you can fully awaken to all of its potential, we need you to sign the contract. Otherwise, the Chronicle's powers will be nullified and you'll go back to your... unfortunate circumstances."

"What?" Stocke growled. "What Chronicle? What are you talking about? _Who_ the hell are you, anyway?"

"I am Igor," the old man said once more, his eerie eyes never blinking. "My master has tasked me to help people in situations such as yours. And my two young companions are the twins Lippti," he gestured to the girl, who gave a slight bow, "and Teo." The boy just continued to stare at Stocke without so much a change in his expression. "Their masters have graciously lent me their services."

This time, Stocke did jump to his feet. His head swam, and his heartbeat rose to an alarming rate, but he couldn't find in himself the will to care. "What's that suppose to mean to me? Where am I? Why am I here? What's that about a contract?" Another question burned at his tongue, but he couldn't find the strength to say it aloud. Something had happened a mere moment ago – the memories of the event hovered at the edge of his mind, making cold sweat trickle down his brow – and someone had been there with him. Who was it? And where were they now? Stocke clutched at his chest – his heart seemed about to burst out of his ribcage.

"You don't know?" the girl called Lippti said, blinking. At the very same time her brother said in a decidedly more deadpan tone, "...he doesn't know."

"Well," Lippti started once more, hesitating. She turned to the old man; his face-splitting grin had dissipated. Instead, he seemed lost in thoughts – somber, even. He steepled his hands together in front of his mouth, frowning.

"There is no gentle way for us to break the news to you," the man called Igor said. "You, my boy, are, well, _dead_."

* * *

 _ **Author's notes**_ : I have no idea how to write Igor. Dude's awesome, but...

Anyway, thanks for reading! (and personal thanks go to quicksilver-ink for betaing this chap).


	3. Arcana II - The Priestess

" _The silent voice within one's heart whispers the most profound wisdom."_

 _Nyx Avatar Persona 3._

* * *

Stocke was dreaming. There was no possible other explanation.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he said through grit teeth. The old man and the strange two children did not answer. "I'm not dead. Do I look dead to you lot?"

"Your physical body isn't currently with us," the boy called Teo said. "Only what you could call your spirit can enter the Velvet Room."

"So this _is_ a dream, then," Stocke said. He balled his hands into fist and drew a painful breath. Everything _hurt_ so much.

The two children evaded his gaze, but the old man continued to stare. He shook his head, the lower half of his face hidden by his steepled hands.

"Yes and no," said Igor. "This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter. Your spirit still exists – it is why you can be here to converse with us – but your body is gone."

" _What?_ " Stocke's head was swimming. His legs were shaking, his hands were clammy. "How could this be? Just… what _happened?_ " His stomach twisted when he realized he didn't exactly want to know the answer.

The girl twin - Lippti - sighed. "Please, sit down, Stocke," she said. "This will not be easy. Try to remember. Take all the time you need." Her voice was gentle, as if she was talking to a young child. Stocke felt cold all over.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, no, _no…_ "

Stocke's legs were suddenly unable to support his weight. He fell back into the chair, burying his face into his hands. The sweat pooled under his bangs, and poured into his eyes, making them burn. An invisible hand crushed his torso; he could feel his heart struggling and beating madly against his chest, like an animal trying to escape the grip of a beast of prey. Stocke squeezed his eyes shut and counted from one to ten, as his mother had taught him, way back when, but he could not still his heart, could not force the air into his lungs. He coughed and hacked and choked, opening his eyes only to see the world in front of him blurring into blotches of electric blue and slate grey.

"There… there was a car coming and—" Stocke remembered blood spraying on his face and a glint of silver on a long, pale arm. "It hit us. It… it _crushed_ Uncle right on the spot." Stocke fought to keep the bile from rising to his mouth. _Uncle's dead_. Overbearing, neurotic uncle Heinrich, who nevertheless always kept an eye out for his nephew and…

"…and – Eruca, _she_ —" A long hiss escaped Stocke's mouth as the images flicked through his mind. Spots of black appeared in his vision. Stocke fumbled to loosen his collar, starving for air. The tips of his fingers were starting to tingle; his heart couldn't pump the blood fast enough.

"Stocke!" he heard the girl's frantic voice. "Look at me, Stocke! Look at me!" Stocke startled out of his daze, only now realizing that the girl was standing in front of him, her face inches away. "Look into my eyes and listen to my voice." Stocke swallowed – the action was painful, torturous even – and nodded. With great effort, he met her gaze. The bright golden shade of her eyes was even more striking from this distance. "Breathe, Stocke. Just breathe."

A memory resurfaced in Stocke's mind. His mother, holding his face with both hands, her green eyes soft and loving. _Breathe, sweetie, breathe. Don't think of anything else._ Stocke remembered how his child self had brought his covers up to his chin and leaned back into the bed – the big oak bed he had back in Granorg, not the small cramped thing he had now – before closing his eyes. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ Stocke had focused all of his attention on her voice and the warmth of her hands. Not long after, he had stopped shaking. _See? It's not that hard, isn't it?_

It was not so easy this time. With every breath, the terrible weight pressed down a little more on his chest, crushing both heart and lungs. Tears stung his eyes; still, he kept his gaze focused on the girl in front of him. Finally, he managed to gulp down a mouthful of air. His body gave a great shudder as the oxygen flowed through his blood. The invisible hand constricting Stocke's insides slowly loosened its grip, and he sank back into the velvet chair, panting. In a blink, the girl was back at her master's side again.

"So," Stocke said after a moment of silent contemplation, "my sister and uncle are dead. So am I. Where do this leave me? Is this..." he motioned at his bizarre surroundings, " _purgatory?_ "

Igor chuckled. "Of course not. The fact that your spirit is here means that you've yet to begin your journey to the world of the dead."

"What you have now," the boy Teo said, "is a choice. Follow the natural course of the universe and join the souls of your predecessors in the afterlife, or…" The strange boy produced the piece of parchment he'd shown Stocke before. "You sign the contract and the Chronicle takes you back to before the unfortunate event that sent you here."

Stocke glared at the boy. 'Unfortunate event' would not be the terms he would use to describe the accident that had slaughtered half of his family. "How is that possible?" he said. "What's the catch?"

"The White Chronicle has limited power over time," Teo said. "That's all you need to know. And since you had the book in your possession when the accident happened—"

"The book?" Stocke interrupted him. "What book?"

"The book," Teo replied in a deadpan tone. "The White Chronicle. You had it in your bag. You… really had no idea, did you?"

"I…" Stocke racked his brain trying to recall. "Wait… I remember. There _was_ a book. This big, thick book, in my bag, with my things. Where did it come from?" His eyes widened when the answer finally came to him. "Dad. It came from the parcel Dad dumped on us. I remember just throwing it on my desk after I'd opened it. It must have gotten mixed up with all of my school things. I'd forgotten." Groaning, Stocke rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That _ass_. Just what the hell is he playing at?"

"That, we don't know," Lippti said. "Do you know how your father could have gotten his hands on the Chronicle?"

"No," Stocke spat. "Though I'd love to get my hands on him to get him to talk." He sighed. "I guess for once his meddling helped in a way, since…" Stocke swallowed, his chest clenching painfully again.

"This gives you a chance to escape death," Teo said.

Stocke gave a little shake of his head, so imperceptibly he wasn't sure the old man and the children could have noticed. This wasn't what he had in mind. _If I go back, then Eruca and Uncle might_ —

"So, then," Stocke said, folding his arms, "what are your conditions? What do you want me to do?"

Igor laughed again, while the children exchanged a look.

"We have not said anything about conditions," Lippti said.

"Well, this is a contract," Stocke retorted. "There's always some fine print. You want me to do something for you, and in exchange…" _My family gets to live again._ The screech of metal twisting and the sound of Eruca's scream tore through his head. The memories were so vivid they almost forced the air out of his lungs again.

"It's good to see that we are on the same page," Teo said. "Yes, indeed, you can assist us." He glanced at his sister from across the desk; she sighed and nodded. "There is another book. The Black Chronicle, it is called. We suspect it's fallen into the wrong hands."

"You want me to find this other book," Stocke said. "And something tells me whoever's got it won't give it up so easily."

"We do not know who it is," Lippti said, "but he or she is operating not far from where you live." Her mouth tightened into a line. "And their attempts to uncover the secrets of the Black Chronicle are endangering the people in your town, although they do not seem to be aware."

"More likely, they simply do not care," Teo said.

"Endangering?" Stocke raised a brow. "How so?"

"It will be easier for you to understand if you see it with your own eyes rather than hear it from our lips," said Lippti. "Please trust our words on this."

Stocke closed his eyes and bit down a snarky retort. _Right. It's not like I have much room to argue anyway._

"Alright. Give me that paper." Stocke had barely finished speaking when the parchment floated back to him. A lovely quill materialized in his hand. Stocke gave the two children a last scowl before turning back his attention to the contract. A quick read-over told him neither the twins nor the old man seemed to be lying about what it contained. He reluctantly put quill to paper and signed his name.

"There. It's done." Stocke got out of the chair. "I'll help you. Now, send me back."

"It shall be done," Igor said, his uncanny smile spanning pointy ear to pointy ear. "I wish you luck on your quest."

"You can always come back to us through your dreams, if you need it so," Lippti said. "We will be happy to assist you."

"Keep your eyes and ears open," her brother said. "Strange occurrences lead to rumours and gossip that will surely find their way back to you."

"And listen to the voice of your intuition," Lippti continued. "It will know how to deal with the foes you will face."

"Foes?" Stocke said. "What foes?"

The twins did not answer. Before Stocke's eyes, the Velvet Room twisted into eerie shapes, a white fog appearing at the edges of Stocke's vision.

"Wait!" he called out. "What foes?" The fog filled everything. All Stocke could now hear was Igor's delighted chuckles fading in the distance.

"I have to know! What do you mean by—"

* * *

"– foes – _ooof!_ "

Stocke had suddenly reached forward, but rather than the hard slate floor of the Velvet Room, his feet only met with a bundle of something soft. It tangled around his leg, and Stocke tumbled to the ground with a gasp.

"Ow. Dammit." Stocke rubbed his head, wincing. He blinked once, twice, and realized with a start that he knew very well the plush carpet on which he was sprawled. Stocke snapped his gaze upward, towards the source of a loud ringing sound. _My alarm clock._ Next to a rather familiar bed was a large window; through the curtains, Stocke could spy grey clouds hanging low in the sky. He stumbled to his feet and staggered to his desk, where his found his calendar among the piles of books and other school supplies. He gave a gasp when he read the date. _First day of school._ Were the twins and the old man and that bizarre place real? Or was it just all an elaborate dream?

"Ernst!" he heard someone call his name. The sounds of footsteps were coming from outside his room. "Ernst, sweetie, what happened? Did you fall out of bed?"

Stocke whirled on his feet. His mother was standing by the doorway, rubbing her eyes.

"You made such a ruckus," she said, yawning. "You woke me up."

Stocke did not answer as he rushed out of the room. He was about to descend the stairs when he heard a familiar voice humming from the kitchen, down below.

"Even if you forget me someday," the girl was singing, "I'll embrace you forever. And even if I want to cry, I'll smile and weave a melody with the wind."

Stocke gripped the railings of the staircase so tightly his knuckles turned white. Before he could gather his thoughts he was racing down the stairs, heart beating madly against his ribcage. He had but one glimpse of a blonde girl clad in blue before his foot caught in the corner of the last step. Stocke saw Eruca turning towards him as he fell...

When he regained consciousness, two pale faces were hovering over him.

"Oh my goodness!" Sophia cried out. She brought Stocke against her chest and squeezed and squeezed. Stocke was too dazzled to attempt to escape her embrace. "Ernst, are you alright? You gave us quite the scare!"

Stocke realized dimly that someone was holding one of his hands. He disentangled himself from his mother's hug to see who it was. His heart skipped a beat when his gaze was met by Eruca's teary blue eyes. _It was just a dream_ , he told himself. _Just a stupid nightmare._ Yet, it seemed his body thought otherwise.

"You…" Eruca began, "you just fell from the stairs! I was so frightened! I thought you'd hit your head, but…"

Sophia gingerly patted Stocke's brow. "It seems not. Thanks goodness!"

"How long have I been out?" Stocke croaked.

"Two minutes, maybe," Eruca said. "Mom was about to call an ambulance."

"Won't be necessary. I'm fine."

Sophia and Eruca's pursed mouths told him they thought otherwise. The doorbell rang out before they could place a word.

"Oh, that must be—" Sophia said.

Stocke jumped to his feet, nearly falling all over in the process. Ignoring his mother and sister crying out from behind, he wobbled to the door and swung it open.

"Good morning, nephew!"

Stocke stared mutely at the cheerful man standing in the pouring rain. Uncle waved at him, grinning that dopey grin of his, the one that had brightened so many of Stocke's childhood days. Stocke's head was swimming again. _If it was nothing but a dream, then why am I so affected by it?_ Uncle's eyes widened behind his glasses as Stocke fell back against the wall. He buried his face into his hands. _A simple nightmare wouldn't screw me up so much…_

"Ernst!" Stocke heard his mother and sister shout. Not a second later, they were at his side, supporting him. Uncle fidgeted on his spot, mouth opening and closing in quick succession.

"What is wrong with you, my boy?" Uncle stuttered. "What happened, Sophie?!"

"There's nothing wrong with me," Stocke said. "I'm fine." To his annoyance, he fumbled over the words. _Yeah, sure,_ that'll _convince them…_

"Fine? You passed out just moments ago!" Sophia exclaimed. She put a hand to his brow. "And you're all sweaty and warm. I'm sure you have a fever!"

Stocke inhaled sharply through his nose. _Dammit. Why did you have to say that in front of_ —

"What?!" Uncle cried out; he seemed on the verge of fainting as well. "How could this be?" Stocke burned with shame as his uncle started to tug on the sleeve of his uniform. "That's it, I'm bringing you to see a doctor."

" _No_ ," Stocke said. "Besides, you have work today." There was a twitch in his heart as he remembered the circumstances behind the accident that would – that _might_ – lead to the man's death. "I mean…"

"An eighteen-year-old boy in perfect health usually does not have faint without a good reason," Uncle said. "You're coming with me and that's that."

"I'll drive him, Harry," Sophia interrupted. "He's my son."

"Sophie, I can—"

"Heinrich." Sophia's mouth was smiling, but her eyes were frosty. "I can take care of my own son. Please go to work."

"But—"

Stocke sighed and raised his hands to put an end to their squabbling. "I'll go with Mom. But you," he jabbed his finger at his uncle, "you stay out of the main road. Don't go your usual route. Take a detour if you need to." Uncle's mouth dangled open as he stared at Stocke's extended finger. Still, worry gnawed at the back of Stocke's mind. "Dammit," he said after a bit of deliberation, "just take the bus, it'll be safer."

"What? _No_ , that's ludicrous, that would take forever."

Stocke groaned. He had to take out the big guns. "Do it for me. _Please?_ "

Confusion was written all over Uncle's face, but his eyes grew big and shiny. "O-of course I will, if you insist."

"What about me?"

Stocke's insides twisted at the sound of that voice. He gazed down at his sister, throat constricting. "Eruca, you…" Her mouth was slightly open, her brows were furrowed. Stocke took a painful swallow. "Mom, can she just come with us?"

Sophia and Eruca exchanged a look.

"Well, this is my first day of school, but…" Eruca tugged at her skirt. "But I _am_ worried about you, so…"

Sophie rolled her eyes heavenward. "Of course you can come along. Go get your things, both of you."

"I'll get Ernst's things," Eruca said. "Stay here, you." She pinned Stocke down with her stare, before leaving without another word.

Stocke watched her go with a heavy heart. _Dammit._ This was all so dumb. And yet, he wished a thousand times this would all turn out to be just a stupid fantasy of his.

There was a way he could make sure, however. "Eruca, wait," he called out. His sister stopped in her tracks and looked at him, puzzled. "There's something on my desk that I'm gonna need. Can you bring it to me?" _If it doesn't exist, then I'm just a lunatic freaking out over a dumb nightmare._

 _If not…_

Stocke didn't want to elaborate on that thought.

* * *

It was a little after noon when Sophia finally brought Stocke and Eruca to school.

Eruca immediately bolted for the principal's office with a doctor's note detailing why they had both skipped school this morning. Stocke himself ambled around, unwilling to mingle with the thick crowd that had gathered in front of the main gates of St. Noah's High. The other students paid him no mind. A couple of kids were seated together, playing a board game. Stocke glanced at their table, mildly interested. Laughter rung out to his left. Out of the corner of his eyes, Stocke saw a group of girls giggling, cell phones in hands. The sports courts were already full with teenagers playing basketball or soccer. Stocke sighed. There wasn't a familiar face in sight.

Stocke glanced inside his duffel bag. The thick old book stood out against the rest of his school stuff. He'd been both relieved and horrified when Eruca had brought it from his bedroom before they had all left for the hospital. He wasn't going mad, at least. On the other hand, if the book truly existed, then it meant…

Stocke felt his phone buzz from his pocket. He took it out and saw that he had received a message from his best friend Rosch.

 _where u? where u been?_ Not a second later, Stocke's phone chimed again.

 _Where are you? Why aren't you at school?_ Stocke couldn't help but smile; that was his other best friend, Sonja Silverberg. Another message soon appeared. _Rosch's been worried sick! Answer your phone!_

 _I'm at school now,_ he wrote to Sonja. _Where are you?_

He had barely sent it when he received the response. _Left corner of the courtyard, near the basketball courts. Same spot as usual_.

Stocke picked up the pace to go find them. He crossed the busy courtyard, deftly making his way through the crowd, and soon spied the very familiar silhouette of his best friend. Leon Rosch was indeed impossible to miss: he was the tallest student in St. Noah's High by a far margin, towering even above the adult staff. Thick blond stubble covered a square jaw; if it wasn't for his school uniform, anyone would take him for a teacher.

Rosch was leaning on the trunk of an oak tree which overlooked the picnic table where Sonja was sitting down. She was talking animatedly, but Rosch didn't seem to pay much attention, only nodding once in a while to make it appear that he was following the conversation. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Stocke approaching.

"There you are!" Rosch greeted Stocke with a slap on the back. Stocke noticed his friend wasn't wearing his prosthetic; Stocke was slightly ashamed of the way his eyes were so easily drawn to the sight of Rosch's empty left sleeve flapping in the wind.

"Stocke!" Sonja said, rising from her seat. "Where were you? You're not one to skip school, usually."

The corners of Stocke's mouth curled into a sheepish smile. "I was at the hospital. I'm fine, though."

"Fine?" Sonja's long brown hair whipped back and forth as she shook her head. "Someone who's fine usually don't have to go to the hospital." She put her hands on her hips, her foot tapping against the ground.

"I just fainted," Stocke said. "You don't have to make such a big fuss. They didn't find anything wrong with me."

"Really? Why did you pass out, then?"

 _Dammit. She's as worse as Mom or Uncle._ "Nerves, probably. They figured it must be because of school starting and stuff. It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" Sonja cried out. "Stocke, you _really_ are hopeless!"

Rosch gave a little chuckle. Stocke sent him a pointed glare.

"It really isn't," he muttered.

"Haven't you heard?" Sonja's tone had suddenly gone from exasperated to worried. "They say a kid in from our year has been in a coma for two weeks. They didn't find anything wrong with him. One day, he just passed out and didn't wake up."

"So?" Stocke said with a shrug.

"It happened to a friend of Kiel's, too," Rosch added. "You remember him, my cousin?" Stocke nodded, wincing. How could he forget? The kid had taken to follow him like a starstruck puppy every time they met. "Mimel, I think that's her name. It's been two months and she still hasn't woken up."

Stocke folded his arms together. _Strange occurrences_ , that boy had said. _Rumours and gossip._ Could it be…?

"As I said," Stocke said, injecting a note of finality in his tone, "I'm fine. Just tell me what I missed."

"Well, the principal's speech, for starters," Rosch said. "That wasn't a big loss."

"There are two new teachers," Sonja continued. "Professor Dias for maths – we had a class this morning. And, um, the other guy, I think his name is Selvan? He's teaching political sciences in our year."

"They've replaced the assistant principal, too. The new one seems a bit batty."

Sonja giggled. "Her speech was as long as Principal Hugo's. I thought it would never end."

"At least she didn't go on and on about the depths of depravity and carnal sins and who know what else keeps Principal Hugo up at night."

Sonja rummaged through her bag. "You can copy my notes if you want, Stocke," she said. "We just went over the syllabus, so there's not a lot you missed."

"Thanks."

"It's nothing." Sonja narrowed her eyes. "Just promise me to be careful and take good care of your health, right? Both of you idiots, in fact."

Rosch scratched the back of his head, embarrassed, while Stocke just gave Sonja a slight smile. "Of course we will. Don't worry."

"Right," Sonja said, "with that cleared, maybe I'll be able to focus all my attentions on getting better grades than last year. That was truly _atrocious_."

Stocke frowned. "Sonja, you know it wasn't your fault. Your brother—"

"It doesn't matter." She shook her head. "I have to get better grades or I'll never be able to get into ASU."

Stocke was about to argue, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. Rosch was looking down at him, silently urging him not to discuss the matter further. Stocke sighed.

"You'll do great," he opted to tell Sonja instead.

"Of course she will," Rosch said. "We'll help, too."

Sonja brought her hands together and smiled. "You boys are adorable! I don't know what I'd do without you two." She embraced both of them; she was so tiny she only came up to their chests. Stocke was amused to see that Rosch had gone redder that his necktie.

Over Sonja's shoulder, next to the fence, a dark shade twisted into being. Stocke startled, stiffening. He blinked, and the thing was gone.

Sonja let go of him. "Something's wrong, Stocke?" she asked.

Stocke gazed down at her, too stunned for words. Instead, he only shook his head. The bell rang out in the distance. Sonja gave Stocke one last skeptical look, and went to gather the things she'd left on the table. Rosch followed after her, leaving Stocke alone to mull over what he'd seen.

He stared at the spot where the thing – it'd looked like someone's shadow, except a shadow was never so _dense_ – had stood only moments prior. One of his hands clutched at his bag.

 _Maybe I'm really going mad, then._

* * *

The rest of the week would have been uneventful, if it wasn't for more of these shadow things materializing on the school ground.

They always lurked at the edges of Stocke's vision, dissipating the moment he turned to lay eyes on them. None of the other students seemed to see them. The shadow things prowled the school hallways; they stood unnoticed in the corners of the classrooms and gathered at the outskirts of the sports courts. Everyday their outlines seemed to get a little sharper, their darkness a little deeper.

 _Schizophrenic. I'm starting to go schizophrenic_ , was Stocke's conclusion. The logical step would be to confide in his loved ones and consult a specialist, yet Stocke instead found himself being more tight-lipped than ever. Eruca had easily adapted to her new environment, making some new friends right on the first day, while as always Mom was a bundle of positive energy. Even surly Uncle Heinrich seemed to be happier than usual. Stocke feared nothing more than to burden them with his own troubles.

 _Follow your intuition,_ that girl had said. She could have been only a figment of Stocke's imagination, yet her advice was sound. For now, he'd gather as much information as he could. _After that…_ After that, he just hoped he would be strong enough to accept whatever truth he would uncover.

His resolve was tested much sooner than he would have thought.

His part-time job was not far from school, and so Stocke simply walked to the small bookshop where he worked when classes were over, turning back Uncle's offer to drive him there. The roads were unusually empty, especially for a late Friday afternoon. Stocke had not seen any of the strange creatures throughout the day. Still, a sense of doom gripped him, and he looked at every shadowed corner with suspicion, muscles tensed in anticipation. He had the prickling feeling that _something_ would happen soon.

His worst fears were confirmed when he reached an alleyway he often used as a shortcut. The backstreets around these parts were usually filled with kids playing and running about. Yet, Stocke was alone today.

Or he would have been, if it wasn't for the trio of shadowy creatures materializing the moment he'd laid foot in the alleyway.

Stocke cursed as he adjusted his hold on his school bag, ready to swing it like a weapon if needed. These things had never appeared out of the school ground before. Now that they stood only a few meters away, Stocke could finally see what they truly looked like. They were shaped like large lumps, and made of a strange, goopy substance; they left dark, oily trails behind them whenever they moved. When they finally noticed Stocke, they made a sharp turn and stared at him. Their faces – if they had any – were hidden behind blue masks. The number 'I' in ancient Imperial numerals was etched above round holes showing empty, soulless eyes.

With a hiss, the three creatures were upon him.

Stocke managed to hit one squarely in the face with his bag, but the other two easily evaded his clumsy swing. Long, black tendrils resembling hands grabbed his right arm and twisted around his torso. Stocke screamed. A sharp pain burned everywhere the creatures touched him.

They pushed him against the wall, taking the breath out of him. Stocke struggled against their grip, and with tremendous effort he succeeded in pulling the lid off a trashcan. He flung it at the creatures, and the lid collided with their mask with a loud metallic clang. The shadow things stumbled backwards, stunned, and Stocke escaped their grasp, managing to crawl a few meters away before falling to the ground. Stocke grunted as he attempted to get to his feet – to no avail. His limbs shook from the pain and the fear and wouldn't listen to his commands. The creatures swooped towards him, and he braced himself, mouth tightening, arms rising above his face in a futile attempt to ward them off.

 _I am thou... Thou art I..._

Stocke let out a gasp. Where had that voice come from?

 _From the sea of thy soul, I come..._

A warmth was spreading through his chest. The creatures were above him, their shadowy arms extending to claw at him – they blocked the light of the sun, leaving Stocke in near darkness – and yet a simple tranquility was diffusing through his being. _I'm not alone_ , Stocke thought. What could have given birth to such a certitude, Stocke didn't know. Yet, he knew instinctively what to do.

"Come!" he shouted, his arm reaching for the rays of the suns that did manage to filter to him, " _Persona!_ "

There was a sharp sound like a piece of glass cracking, and a light as blinding as a summer sun came down on him. The light sharpened into a humanoid figure; it hovered above Stocke, limbs extended into the shape of a cross.

 _I am thou... Thou art I... I am the bearer of the white flame, the harbinger of the final twilight. The shadows shall wither and die before my blade!_

In its right hand, a long sword blazed into existence. The figure raised it above its head, where it caught the rays of the sun, magnifying their brilliance. With a great cry, Stocke's savior brought the fiery blade down on the three shadow creatures, ripping them apart. They twisted and screeched as flames devoured their bodies. In a matter of seconds they had burned away, not even leaving a scatter of ashes behind.

Stocke panted and loosed his tie as he studied the area where the creatures had scorched to nothingness only moments prior. Above his head, the brilliantly golden figure hovered, silent and magnificent. Its light was so harsh Stocke could barely stand to look at it. Stocke raised his face to meet its eyes – two blue flames blazing like the headlight of a car. His savior was rapidly fading away, making it impossible to make out the rest of his visage. Yet, Stocke knew his name. It was as familiar as the one his parents had given him, eighteen years ago.

"Baldr," he breathed.

The golden figure gave a nod, his fiery eyes gleaming with pride, before dissipating into the sunlit alley.

* * *

 _ **Author's note** s: I'd like to thank all of you for being with me for another chapter. Special thanks go to quicksilver-ink for beta-ing!_


	4. Arcana III - The Empress

" _Celebrate life's grandeur, its brilliance, its magnificence..."_

 _Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

Stocke sat, panting, for a long moment, after the brilliant figure had gone from the sunlight-filled alleyway. _My Persona_ , his instinct told him. _Baldr._ Why was he aware of the creature's name? How had he learned the way to summon it? This, he did not know.

Stocke staggered back until he felt the solidity of the wall behind him. He remembered the pain that had flared up when the black creatures had touched him and he checked his arms for burn marks in a flurry of chaotic movements.

He let out a slow exhalation as he found nothing. Stocke stared numbly at the pale, unblemished skin, his mouth going dry. _Dammit._ _What the hell happened?_ Had he had hallucinated the figure – Baldr – as well as these shadowy monsters? Dozens of dreadful possibilities raced through Stocke's mind. _If I'm going crazy, then this is getting worse and worse._ There was a dull pang in his chest as he thought of his family. _What are they going to do with me?_

The crunch of gravel under someone's feet snapped him out of his dark thoughts. Stocke attempted to scramble to his feet, but his shoe slipped under his weight and he hit the ground, the fall knocking the air out of his lungs. Before he could get a better look at the figure at the other end of the alleyway, they had bolted.

"Wait!" Stocke called after them. "Don't run!" With a grunt, he finally managed to push himself off the ground and broke into a run. The stranger was using the maze of alleyways to their advantage, and so even though Stocke was faster – he had the clear impression that the one he pursued had rather short legs – he never quite managed to gain on them.

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Stocke shouted. "I only need to know—" _Did you see them too?_

Soon, the sounds of their footsteps was fading away. Stocke stopped in his tracks, wincing as he tried to catch his breath. It all possibilities, the one he had been pursuing must have reached one of the main streets by now; it would be impossible to find them now that they had blended with the crowd. Stocke was certain they'd been small and slight. _A kid?_ He must have frightened them.

Stocke rubbed the bridge of his nose. _Just my luck…_ For a moment, he entertained the idea of just calling at work to ask for a night off. The bookstore where he worked belonged to a pair of sweet-natured elderly folks who never refused him anything. Stocke took his cell phone from his pocket, sighing as he glanced at the darkening sky.

 _I'm gonna be late anyway…_ Still, Stocke's thumb hovered over the buttons as he thought of his mother and sister. What would he tell them? He had done his best to act normal throughout the week, and yet they had treated him like some breakable object the moment he'd given so much a sneeze. _I can't give them another reason to worry about me._ Stocke let out a groan as he pocketed his phone. He headed out of the alleyway, unaware that a small figure was spying on him from just beyond the corner, their eyes shining with curiosity and fear.

* * *

The next day he went to school, Stocke blended in with the crowd gathering at St. Noah's entrance, lost in thoughts. His indifferent gaze ran across the dozens of faces, and he listened to what Eruca was saying with minimal attention. Still, a chill ran down Stocke's spine when his eyes fell upon a dark shape, its deep black sticking out amongst the bright blue of the students' uniforms.

Another of these creatures had appeared at school.

The monster stood in the thick of the crowd, unseen by the gaggle of students entering the school. Stocke stilled at its sight, jaw tightening. Only when he felt a tug at one of his sleeves did he came out of his daze. Startled, he looked down to find Eruca staring at him, puzzlement written over all her face.

"I'm fine," he answered her unspoken question. "You know me. I'm not so good with Mondays." He forced his mouth to curl into a rueful grin and hoped she would not notice that his eyes weren't smiling as well.

More and more of these creatures appeared as the days went by. In truth, they never seemed to pay Stocke any mind, making him all the more apprehensive. They gathered in packs in the darkened corners of the classes and corridors, their fuzzy shape only sharpening whenever someone approached their unmoving forms, unaware of their silent and secret vigil. Sometimes, the creatures did stir, moving as if to follow a teacher or a student. Every time it happened Stocke grew tense, limbs coiling as he anticipated an attack that never did come in the end. Worse still, the students and staff of St. Noah's never seemed to notice the strangers in their midst. Stocke was truly the only one who could see them.

Stocke was about to accept the terrifying truth that they were just a figment of his imagination, a hallucination brought about by his perhaps now diseased brain, when he was finally given the answers he sought.

It took Stocke some time to become aware of his surroundings. The last thing he recalled was going to bed and uneasily staring at his ceiling in the dark of his room. Stocke shifted in the seat he was currently occupying, running his hands against the armrests, feeling the soft plushness of velvet under his fingertips. He wasn't anywhere at home, that much he knew. His mom would never go for something as gaudy as velvet.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room," came a familiar, cheerful voice. The fog in front of Stocke's eyes was dissipating, and now he could clearly see the electric blue sky spreading into infinity and in front of him, the strange trio he had met not long after—

Stocke's throat constricted, and he gripped the armrests of his chair tighter. _No, don't think about that._ He inhaled and exhaled. _Focus._ The old man – Igor – was staring at him with bloodshot eyes, and yet Stocke found the twins' gazes more unnerving. There was a sense of genuine helpfulness in Igor's smile, at least.

"My, how good to see you again, my boy," Igor said. "I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten us."

"I was starting to think I might have dreamed you guys up," Stocke replied. "So. Are you going to give me some answers or you'll wait until I have another near-death experience?"

The boy twin shook his head. "The Shadows wouldn't have killed you."

 _So that's what those monsters are called._ "Really?" Stocke remembered the burning, the rising terror in his guts as the dark tendrils had twisted around him. "What would have they done, then?"

The girl – Lippti – was the one who answered. "You could say they would have sucked the lifeforce out of you."

Stocke let out an irritated sound. "How is that any different from killing me?"

"Your body would still be alive," Teo said. "You would only be… _comatose._ "

 _That's so much better, of course_. "What _are_ those things?" A thought suddenly struck Stocke. "They attacked some other people beside me, did they? Like these kids at school?" Igor's grin disappeared; it was all Stocke needed to know he was right. "These two… are they going to be all right?"

"We do not know," Lippti said, evading Stocke's gaze. "There are many things we do not know about the situation at present. We were hoping you would be our eyes and ears, in fact."

"Still, we can tell you what the Shadows are," Igor said with a cackle. "And how to beat them."

Stocke remembered the fiery figure striking the black creatures in the alleyway with its burning sword. "With my Persona, right?" He rubbed his temples, groaning. This was all going to result in a headache, he knew it. "What the hell is a Persona, anyway?"

"A facet of your true self, my boy," Igor said. "You are a son, a brother, a nephew, a friend, a student… and for each and every of these identities you have a mask that you present to the outside world. Your Persona is just another of these masks."

 _Now_ Stocke's head really hurt. "I don't see how this allows me to summon a magic person out of thin air."

"You unlocked the abilities that were dormant within you when you agreed to a contract with us," Teo said. "This is why you were able to see the Shadows as well."

"Sadly, they became aware of your presence for the same reason," Lippti added. "And the more attention you paid to them, the more they noticed you."

Stocke leaned back into the chair, throat tightening. "So they could attack me again." He felt cold all over. "And what if they try assaulting someone who hasn't got a Persona?"

"You already know the answer," Teo said.

The air seemed to thin around Stocke. "I could have ended up like one of these two kids." _Anyone could end up like those two kids._ His hands curled into fists. " _Damn_. How can we stop them?"

"First of all," Teo began, "the creatures who attacked you were only offshoots of a bigger Shadow. That's why you beat them so easily."

"Great. Just… _great_. How do I find the biggest fish, then? And how do I kill it?"

The twins exchanged a frozen smile, while Igor quirked an eyebrow.

"You've become a bit bloodthirsty, are you, my boy," the master of the Velvet Room said, chuckling.

"I'm not looking for a fight," Stocke told Igor, "but if those things can hurt any more people, then…"

"It would be impossible for you to kill a real Shadow by yourself," a stern Teo said. "It would be far more powerful than someone of your skills."

"Then, what?"

"You must weaken it," Lippti replied. "Much like a Persona, a Shadow comes from someone's heart. To defeat a Shadow, you must first gain the assistance of the person from whom it was borne. Once they claim the Shadow as their own, its powers can be nullified."

"But the larger a Shadow is, the more difficult it is to find," Teo said. "A powerful Shadow will start subtly reshaping reality to its own whims. If you are not carefully looking for it, its influence might pass unnoticed."

"Keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary," Lippti said. "And do not worry. The White Chronicle is watching out for you. She will not allow you to fail."

"She?" Stocke could not help but frown. "Books have genders now?"

The twins were stone-faced. Igor's smile was as unhelpful as the two children's blank stares.

Stocke understood they would tell him no more. "Fine. I'll do some sleuthing of my own. And I'll find that damn Black Chronicle of yours before it can wreak more havoc on my school."

"On your school, you say?" Teo noted. "That's an interesting observation. The attacks all have occurred in a certain radius of your school... for now."

"That's what I thought, too," Stocke said. Could the holder of the Black Chronicle be a student or a teacher? "How do I find a Shadow? What does it looks like?"

"Each Shadow is unique," Igor said, drumming his fingers against the desk. "Their appearance varies according to the human from whom it was created."

"And as we said before," Lippti continued, "a Shadow's very presence warps reality. You might not notice it at first, but the moment you become aware of it, the Shadow will reveal itself to you."

Stocke found this was less than helpful. "Alright," he said, "I guess I'll learn as I go."

"We wish you luck," Lippti said; her voice echoed in his ears as the fog overtook him once more.

Stocke woke up not long after, the early morning sun filtering through the drapes on his window. He said nothing as his mother and sister chatted animatedly over breakfast, mulling over the monumental task that had been laid in front of him. Thankfully, no one – not even the worriers that were his uncle and Sonja – commented on his silent and contemplative mood throughout the day. They were used to it by now, Stocke surmised.

School didn't seem much different – if one could overlook the lesser Shadows hiding amongst the students and staff, that is. Stocke ignored them at the best of his abilities, unwilling to have a repeat of the attack in the alleyway. None of the creatures seemed to particularly stand out in his eyes. _The Shadow will reveal itself to you,_ Lippti had said. To Stocke, it was as crappy as a piece of advice could get.

A poke in the back took Stocke out of his reverie. He had been daydreaming during math class. He gave a furtive look behind him, where Sonja was scowling at him, her pen still up in the air. He mouthed a sheepish 'sorry' before turning back his attentions to the teacher. Anselm Dias was one of the two newcomers – the social studies teacher, Regis Selvan, being the other. One sweeping glance at this class was enough to tell Stocke that Dias was the favourite among the two. Even now, three weeks into the semester, most girls – and a couple of boys, too – gave him coy looks, blushing the moment he would turn his dark purple gaze to them. With long, flawless silver-gold hair and skin as smooth and pale as white marble, Dias looked more like a movie star than a mere school teacher. He was halfway decent at his job too, which made him okay in Stocke's books.

A look of annoyance did mar that perfect face when the sound of someone knocking on the door broke the silence that had fallen as the students worked. The door opened, revealing a young man Stocke recognized as the vice-principal's secretary.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your class, Mr. Dias, sir," he said without much enthusiasm. "The vice-principal has asked to meet up with a student." He took out a paper from his pocket. "A, um, a certain Ernst Stocke-Hei—"

"That's me," Stocke said, interrupting the young man before he could say the last bit of his name. _Didn't the official records strike out that part?_

"Did something happen?" Dias asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"No," the secretary said. "Well, I don't know, she hasn't said."

"Go," Dias said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "But I expect you to catch up on what you missed on your own."

Stocke exchanged a look with Sonja; she gave a little nod as if to say she'd help. Stocke got out of his chair without another word and followed the secretary, apprehension weighing down on him.

"She's waiting for you," the secretary said as they arrived at the vice-principal's office. He motioned for Stocke to enter, and the latter did so with a sigh and slumped shoulders.

If Dias resembled the kind of heartthrobs who would make the first page in teenage girls' magazines, then vice-principal Protea Bicchieri looked like the kind of women who would appear in publications of more dubious moral quality. She was shapely and she knew it: she wore tight pencil skirts and shirts that were buttoned just enough so Principal Hugo could not say anything but that still offered a plunging view down her cleavage. Her face was lovely enough, though she always appeared to sport a perpetual sneer, something which spoiled her features a bit, Stocke found.

"Oh?" vice-principal Protea said, turning away from her computer. "I didn't expect for you to come so fast. Sit down." She offered him a smile that would have made most teenage boys weak in the knees. Stocke just stared.

"Did something happen?" he said. She appeared a bit taken aback by his bluntness, but Stocke did not care. "Why did you call me?"

Protea laughed. "And here I though any kid of your age would be thrilled to be taken out of class." She grinned that predatory smile again. "Especially to spend some time with a lovely lady."

Stocke blinked dumbly at her. _God. Did she just…?_

"But there's no need to worry, sweetie. Nothing has happened. I was just curious to meet a member of my new family."

Stocke continued to stare, his surprise barely registering on his face. "Your… new family?"

"Yes," she said, feigning a bit of distress. "It seems Victor hasn't told you about me. How dreadful!"

"I haven't spoken with my dad in months."

"That's so sad. He's very distraught that you have to live so far away, didn't you know?"

Stocke's face became so stiff it started to hurt. "No. And my mom put a restraining order against him. Didn't you know?"

Protea's smile was as brittle as ice. "Well, as of two months ago, I've become your new stepmother." She waved her left hand in Stocke's face; he could see the glittering diamond ring on her finger. "I'm so glad to be finally able to meet you."

Usually, Stocke would congratulate someone on their wedding, but he could only pity the poor woman. Now that she was seated directly in front of him, her face only inches away, he understood why he'd found her facial features so beautiful. _She looks like a younger version of Mom._ The thought made him sick to his stomach. _Creepy bastard. Good thing Mom doesn't know._

"To think my first job in Alistel would be at my stepson's school! The world really is a tiny place." Protea rested her chin on her hands, offering Stocke an even better view of her cleavage. He obstinately looked at the wall instead. "You look just like him, you know. I knew you would be as handsome as your papa."

 _Now_ , Stocke did feel like he was about to retch. _A younger version of Mom who keeps_ hitting _on me_. He briefly wondered whether to tell the school authorities or sic his uncle on her. Then again, perhaps the latter option was far too cruel to be even considered seriously.

"Still, it was hard for me to realize you were even a student here," Protea said. "Since you took your mother's name and everything."

"My sister's in Class 1-A," Stocke replied. "And my uncle teaches history in that grade too. Were you aware?"

"Really?" Her eyes were round in insincere surprise. "I didn't know."

 _And_ they _are the ones who share a name with your husband…_ "Can I go back to class, now?"

"Well, there _is_ something I'd like to tell you before you go," Protea said. "It's about your father." She looked stricken for a moment – Stocke wondered if this was faked as well. "It's… well, I haven't heard from him for a _month_."

Stocke folded his arms together. "…and?"

Now Protea's composure did break a little. She must have found him to be quite the ungrateful child. "Aren't you worried? He's your father, after all."

"You've called the police, right?"

"No, but – I've figured he might have contacted you or your sister. You're his children after all. And I know he'd gone to Alistel to meet you this summer. I thought..."

"I told you," Stocke said in an almost growl, "I never speak to him. He lives in a different country. And there's this little thing the court put on him. Oh, yeah, that restraining order. Little thing, that."

Protea's smile looked like it was about to shatter into a thousand of tiny pieces. "So sad to see a family broken apart like that. Well, you can go, now. Skip class if you like – you got the vice-principal's permission." She winked and lightly touched Stocke's arm. The latter ground his teeth together, but said nothing. "I'm glad to have met you."

"Likewise," Stocke said, his jaw tightening.

He was happy to be finally out of her office – she had managed to make the tiny space almost as suffocating as the family dining room had been in the home he'd grown up. Stocke quickened his pace, cursing as he looked at the hour on his cellphone. Dias' class was the last one of the day – and Stocke's meeting with the creepy new addition to his family had eaten up almost half of it.

The bell rang as Stocke was about to go back into the classroom. With a sigh, he went against the rush of student coming out of the door, making a beeline for his desk. He was thankful to see that Sonja was already gathering his stuff.

"Stocke! There you are!" Sonja ran up to him; as he had expected, her eyes were filled with worry. "Did something—? "

"Everything's fine," Stocke assured her. "Let's get out of here, first, and meet up with Rosch." He grimaced. "I guess there _is_ something I have to tell you."

"Oh…" Sonja bit her lips. As they went out the door, she continued, "Sorry, but I have to go. I'm helping Mr. Fennel set up the labs for class tomorrow. And I think Rosch is giving Coach Garland a hand with the new recruits."

"I see," Stocke said. "So, I guess he'll drive you home after that?" Sonja had always stayed in school after classes – she'd been part of almost any club imaginable. Back in the days, her brother Rowan would always come and fetch her once he'd finish his shifts at the hospital. Now, Rosch was usually the one to give her a ride home.

"Yes, he will, after practise is over." Sonja sighed. "I hope this is a good idea, him helping around even though he'll never be able to make the team." She looked to the ground miserably. The topic of Rosch's injury had always upset her.

"Of course, it is," Stocke assured her. "Does Rosch strike you as the kind of guy to be worked up about it?"

Sonja smiled and patted his arm. They had reached the point where they'd have to part. "I guess not. His therapist said it'd help, after all."

"You're the one who's always saying to listen to your shrink," Stocke said. "Say hi to him for me."

"I will! See you tomorrow!" And with that she was off to the science wing.

Mercifully, nothing happened over the course of the next days. Both Eruca and Sophia were horrified to learn of the newest addition to their family tree. Still, the vice-principal did not attempt to contact Stocke or his sister afterwards. Stocke couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she were to meet with his uncle – she'd come back scarred from that encounter, he was sure. The man had gleefully built a dossier containing every dirt he could find on her when Stocke had told him of their family connection.

The last week of September came by without any new bizarre revelation, to Stocke's greatest relief. By now, he had established a certain pattern in his patrols across the school ground. It allowed him to be unnoticed by the other students and the staff – the last thing he needed was for anyone to notice just how strange he was acting. He questioned the friends of the Shadows' first two victims. Their testimonials did not help shed any new light on the case. The two victims had been normal kids, with no known illness or trouble, one being a shy girl who had been thinking of joining the school music band, the other being a chatty member of the school chess club. Truly, Stocke had no lead to follow.

Rosch and Sonja never seemed to notice his odd behaviour. Sometimes, Stocke wrestled with the idea of telling them everything. There was a certain part of him that dreaded the possibility that the Shadows' next casualty would be someone he knew. And the thought of anything happening to the two of them was—

"The Coach's been putting us through hell," Rosch told Stocke and Sonja as they left their last class, one late Monday afternoon. He flexed his left arm and flinched. " _Ow._ Dammit, that last practise was _murder_."

"Poor baby," Sonja said with a laugh. "He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

Rosch blushed as he rubbed his neck. "Sure. Maybe." Stocke hid a smile; even the tip of Rosch's ears were red. "Want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

For some reason, this struck Stocke as odd. "Rowan is? But…"

"Hm?" Sonja said. "What's wrong, Stocke?"

The strange impression was gone. Stocke shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just tired, I guess."

"Okay," Sonja said. "If you say so." She gave him what he called her doctor-in-training's glare. "Make sure you get plenty of rest, then."

"Yeah, sure," Stocke told her with a shrug.

He was still daydreaming and mulling over the strange feeling that had seized him at the mention of Sonja's brother when his sister called for him from across the school entrance. Stocke cut through the crowd to join her.

"Ernst, finally!" Eruca admonished. "You're always so slow lately. You know Uncle doesn't like to wait."

Stocke noted belatedly that she was accompanied by two other kids. One was a short and chubby boy with messy pale brown hair and dark eyes peering up curiously at Stocke from under his glasses. The other was a tall girl with dark hair, tan skin and almond-shaped eyes that seemed to glint with perpetual good humour. The short skirt of the uniform allowed her to show off long, muscled legs. She carried over her shoulder a sports bag and a hockey stick.

"Is that your brother?" the dark-haired girl asked Eruca, her eyes flicking from Stocke's feet to his head. Her grin grew even wider. "Must be, there's this crazy family resemblance. 'Cept you're taller and stuff." For some reason, Stocke had the feeling she'd meant to use another word instead of 'taller' but decided against it at the last minute.

"This is Raynie Sukapatana," Eruca said – the girl wiggled her eyebrows in salutations – "and this is Marco Zielinski." The short boy gave Stocke an unsteady smile, then glanced at his friend Raynie, muttering _'here we go again'_ under his breath.

"Nice to meet you both," Stocke said. "I guess you're the ones who've been taking good care of my little sister since the beginning of the school year."

" _Ernst!_ " Eruca said, protesting with a pout.

Raynie gave a loud bark of laughter. "I dunno about taking good care of her, but we sure are gonna make her class president, so that amounts to something, right?"

"Raynie, I'm not even in the running yet…"

"Well, you should be! You're smarter than the bunch of us put together!"

"No one would ever want to vote for me…"

"They'd be dumb, then!"

"Raynie, stop pressuring her," Marco said, rolling his eyes. "Don't you have your own ambitions to fulfill?"

Raynie balanced the hockey stick on her shoulder. "Of course, I do, but that's gonna wait til next year. They'd never allow a freshman to be captain of the hockey team, would they? So, until then, I have to vicariously live through Eruca and her triumphs."

Stocke didn't think Eruca could grow any redder; still, she was smiling and looking bashfully at her new friend, no doubt touched by her loyalty. The boy called Marco massaged his temples, sighing.

"Well, you crazy kids keep up the good fight," Stocke told Raynie and Marco. "Let's go, 'Ruca."

* * *

Stocke groaned as he drifted out of sleep, the alarm buzz screeching into his ears. He propped himself on one arm, looking at his calendar. _Another Monday morning…_ He rubbed his eyes and dragged himself out of bed. He let his gaze wander to his desk, where he'd put the White Chronicle over his school books. _How is it supposed to help me, anyway?_

At least he found Eruca to be in a good mood; she talking animatedly about her new friends and her plans to run for class president as they prepared breakfast together. "You'd like them, Ernst," she told Stocke. "I have to introduce you sometimes!"

Stocke could not focus on any of his classes throughout the day. His eyelids were heavy, the teachers' words barely filtering in. When the final bell rung, he followed after Rosch and Sonja, listening to their conversation with a lazy ear.

"The Coach's been putting us through hell," Stocke could hear Rosch say. " _Ow._ Dammit, that last practise was _murder_."

Sonja responded with a laugh. "Poor baby. He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

Stocke frowned. His head was starting to hurt, and he could feel the blood thumping in his temples.

Rosch rubbed his neck with his left hand. "Sure. Maybe." He turned to Sonja, cheeks reddening. "Want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

Stocke stopped in his tracks. _Huh?_

"Hm?" Sonja said. "What's wrong, Stocke?"

Stocke looked down at her, his vision momentarily blurring. _What's going on?_ "Nothing. My head hurts, that's all."

"Okay," Sonja said. "If you say so. Make sure you get plenty of rest, then."

"Uh, yeah." Stocke held his head, groaning. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

With mechanical movements, Stocke headed for the school entrance. Soon, he heard Eruca calling out his name.

"Ernst, finally!" Eruca said as he approached her. "You're always so slow lately. You know Uncle doesn't like to wait."

Stocke stared at her, at a loss for words for reasons he couldn't fathom.

"Is that your brother?" the dark-haired girl said. Stocke met her gaze – hadn't they been introduced already? "Must be, there's this crazy family resemblance. 'Cept you're taller and stuff."

"This is—"

"Raynie, I know," Stocke answered.

The girl looked surprised, but pleased. "Oh, I guess she told you about, us, eh? This guy here is Marco." She jabbed her thumb at the smaller boy.

"Nice to meet you, Ernst," Marco said. "Eruca said you used to fence. That's so cool! Is that true?"

"I'm…" Stocke shook his head; the pain in his head was getting stronger and stronger. "Eruca, can we go now? I'm not feeling so good."

"Really?" In the blink of an eye she was at Stocke's side. For once, he was happy that his sister was such a worrier. "Then, let's go back home. I'll see you tomorrow, Raynie, Marco."

Stocke muttered a goodbye as well. He followed after his sister without putting much thought in his movements, almost as if he was in a dream.

* * *

The sound of the alarm buzzing was the first thing his mind registered. Stocke grumbled against his pillow. He would have gladly slept in for another hour. _And to think I went to sleep early to avoid this kind of thing…_

Stocke got out of bed and looked at his calendar. _Another Monday…_ They seemed to keep on coming. He'd have another week with no new lead, this he was certain.

He could hear Eruca humming to herself as he descended the stairs. "My friends want me to run for class president," she said to him as she flipped some pancakes, her tone slightly bashful. "You'd like them, Ernst. I have to introduce you sometimes!"

"You're talking about Raynie and Marco, right?" Stocke replied. "We've met already, didn't we?"

"What? Really? Gosh, there have been so many things to keep track of since I've begun high school. I must have forgotten."

Stocke sipped his tea, frowning. _Maybe I'm the one making things up…_

The rest of the day passed in a blur, Stocke barely paying any attention to the contents of the lessons.

"The Coach's been putting us through hell," Rosch was saying as they left their last class together. " _Ow._ Dammit, that last practise was _murder_." He grabbed his left arm and winced.

Stocke stared at him, his head swimming. _Something's wrong._ He'd seen it before – almost as if he had dreamed about it only the night prior.

"Poor baby. He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

"… _no_ ," Stocke found himself saying. "No, he can't make the college team."

The chatter of the other students went on, but for Stocke, it was as though the world had come to a grinding halt as Sonja and Rosch turned to face him, their eyes growing large and incredulous.

"Huh?" Rosch said. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, Stocke," Sonja added as she put her hands on her hips, "what is that supposed to mean? That Rosch's not good enough to make the team?"

"No, I meant… _ugh_ …" Everything behind the two of them seemed to be twisting, the students blurring into unrecognisable shapes, the colours becoming loud and garish, the corridor spreading and spreading until he could not see where it ended. _What the hell is going on?_ Stocke blinked and gasped – the school had gone back to normal the moment he'd opened his eyes.

"I… I didn't mean anything," Stocke managed to say. He looked at his feet. "I'm tired, I guess."

"Huh," was Rosch's reply. "Well, Sonja, want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

Stocke's gaze snapped to Sonja's face. "What? Rowan… Rowan can't…"

"Hm?" Sonja said. "You're sure everything's okay, Stocke? You don't look so well…" She squeezed his arm. "You should get some rest. Remember at the beginning of the month how you fainted?"

"Yeah, you don't wanna give your mom and your sis another fright."

"I'm fine, really," Stocke said. Logic told him he was the one behaving strangely, but a little voice in his head – his intuition, he guessed – told him to be wary. "You should run along now, Sonja, before Fennel throws a fit."

Sonja looked at him with suspicious eyes. "Alright. But the moment something's wrong, you better give it to me straight, Ernst Stocke." She punctuated her last two words by poking him in the chest before finally leaving for the labs.

"Well, I guess I'll be going too," Rosch said. "See you next morning, Sto—"

"Wait, I'll come with you," Stocke interrupted him. "It's been ages since I've seen you practise." In fact, Stocke had the nagging feeling that he'd never even seen Rosch play for the school team. _Maybe it's just my imagination, but…_

"Well, I guess there's no problem, just text your sis and your uncle so they'll know you won't be coming home with them."

Stocke took his phone and wrote a message to Eruca. "Done. Let's go."

As they approached the gymnasium, Stocke did not fail to notice that there seemed to be less and less students in the courtyard and the hallways. The gym itself was completely empty, which was more than unusual. Stocke felt his body tensing.

"You sure there's a practise scheduled?" he told Rosch. "Why is there no one here?"

Rosch shrugged. "Yeah, that's pretty weird. Are we too early?" He went to grab a ball from the racks. "You up for a game? We used to play tons of times when we were kids, remember?"

 _Yeah, before—_ "Rosch, something's wrong." Stocke was certain of it now. The ceiling was higher up than he remembered and the clocks on the wall seemed to be melting, the hands twisting around the centre in never-ending spirals. The colours were all wrong, too – the green paint was so bright a shade it hurt the eye and the corners of the gym were dark as night, a black matter oozing out of them like tar. Long scrolls hung on the walls – they all showed the same number, displaying one name over and over.

 _Number 4, Leon Rosch. Number 4, Leon Rosch. Number 4, Leon Rosch –_

Now Stocke was panicking. _But he never made the team…!_ "Rosch, we need to get out of here."

Rosch was not grinning anymore. He hadn't noticed anything strange, a horrified Stocke realized. _I'm still the only one who's seeing all this..._

"What's up, man?" Rosch said. "You've been acting weird. This isn't like you at all." He stopped dribbling, catching the ball with his left hand.

The air sapped out of Stocke's lungs. _Yes, that's it._ He closed his eyes, inhaled, and then opened them. Where there had been a flesh arm before, now only a stump came out of Rosch's left sleeve. _Rosch never made the team because he lost his arm in that accident three years ago._

Cold sweat pooled under Stocke's bangs. Was that what the twins had meant when they had said the Shadow would start to alter reality? If so, this was worse than everything Stocke could have dreamed up.

He'd finally found his first Shadow. And it was possessing his very best friend in the entire world.

* * *

 _ **Author's notes:** *dramatic chipmunk theme plays*_

… _really, I've nothing more profound to contribute. Thanks for reading, as always! And thanks to quicksilver-ink for betaing this thing! **  
**_


	5. Arcana IV - The Emperor (part I)

_"Only courage in the face of doubt can lead one to the answer."_

 _Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

"Stocke?" Rosch said. "You sure you okay? You don't look so good…"

Stocke's blood ran cold in his veins. The walls stretched and stretched to oblivion, and a strange blackness oozed out of the corners of the gym, but it was Rosch's nonchalant tone that chilled Stocke the most. _He doesn't see anything of this._ How could it be possible? Could the Shadow be so powerful? Stocke gulped down, a lump forming in his throat; if so, how could he even think of defeating it?

The shadow Rosch cast behind him twisted, its edges growing jagged, sharp. Stocke watched in silent horror as it spread the entirety of the wall. Claw-like tendrils sprang from the main body of the shadow; they hung above Rosch's head, sharpening in the shape of a dozen blades. Stocke took a step backward despite himself, his hands curling into fists.

Rosch dropped the ball he was carrying. "What's up, Stocke? You're freaking me out. Stop it, man."

"Rosch," Stocke managed to croak – his mouth had gone so dry, "behind you. That… that _thing_ …"

"What?" Stocke's friend glanced up and down at the wall behind him. He was frowning when he turned to face Stocke again. "I don't see what you're going on about. I should get you home. You really don't seem so well."

Now the shadow's outstretched tendrils were twisting around Rosch, writhing around his sole remaining arm and tightening across his chest. Rosch's features slackened, except for a muscle jumping near the corner of his mouth. Even if he could not see them, surely, he could sense their hold on him.

Stocke hissed out a curse, backing away until his feet caught on something. He stumbled, and would have fallen down had he not grabbed the closest thing his hand could find. Stocke's fingers tightened around the object and he realized with a start that it was the railing on a hospital bed. Stocke fought the urge to rub his eyes, knowing it was not some mirage that would dissipate the instant he looked away. A monitor by the hospital bed beeped weakly, a long thin line flashing and jumping along an invisible someone's heartbeat. A bright light illuminated an operating table splashed with blood. The red dripped to the floor, where it dyed crimson the shards of glass and the scraps of twisted metal that were coiling upwards from the ground. Tire tracks ran across the gym floor, and a trail of old, dried-up blood followed the black marks. Dark memories flooded back to Stocke. In his mind's eye, Eruca's pale arm dangled from the black bag where they had put her corpse. The bile rose to his mouth, and Stocke looked away from the scene of the carnage, shaking from head to toe.

And Rosch stood amidst all of this, his eyes empty and glazed over.

The dark tendrils sank into Rosch's chest. Sweat beaded over his forehead, yet he did not move, did not utter a sound. Dark shapes slithered out of the corners of the gym. The black creatures looked the same as the ones who had attacked Stocke in that alleyway, not long ago, but their masks were purple rather than blue, the top part shaped like a crown.

The three creatures glided briefly towards Rosch, before swirling into the air, dissolving into black mist. When they came into view again, their appearance had changed. It was now a trio of fully-armored knights mounted on ghostly destriers that drifted to Rosch's side. Over their plate mail, they wore basketball jerseys in St. Noah's colours. Behind the purple masks, no hint of emotion showed.

" _Dammit!_ " Stocke's throat was tight with fear. "Rosch, get out of there!"

Rosch seemed in a daze, as if he was struggling out of a bad dream. "What? Why?"

Stocke tried to shout again, but there was a loud _clang_ as the Shadows lowered their lances, the tips directly aiming for Stocke. His stomach did a somersault when he noticed their left arms were missing.

" _Dammit!_ " Stocke growled as the ghostly knights soared towards him. He grabbed the railing of the hospital bed and shoved it, the wheels giving a screech as the bed sped towards the three Shadows. Stocke gritted his teeth and ran; out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Shadows ram his lance into the hospital bed. The bed exploded, the metal shrieking as it twisted and splintered.

"Oh, hell no," Stocke said under his breath. He dashed into the storage room and grabbed the thing nearest to a weapon he could find – an old hockey stick. His hands tightened around the shaft. It was better than nothing, he supposed…

"S-Stocke?" The weakness of Rosch's voice nearly startled Stocke out of his skin. It was so thin, so _feeble_ , nowhere near the deep bass he'd learned to know over the past years. "W-What's going on…? I feel so… tired…"

The three knights sidled closer to Rosch, their tall forms looming over him. The greater Shadow had grown in size. Its shape was more akin to a human, now, and the top of its head was fashioned in the outline of a crown – a broken crown, with chipped or missing prongs.

 _Useless, useless, useless_ , a chorus of voices rippled across the growing vastness of the gym. _Useless broken cripple… You're useless, useless, useless…_

" _What?_ " Stocke shouted. His hands clenched so tightly around the hockey stick that his knuckles went white. "Shut the hell up! Rosch, you know that's not true!"

Rosch's eyes were blank, glassy. He said nothing.

"Snap out of it, Rosch!"

Stocke's exclamation drew the three knights' attentions back to him. Two of them turned their faceless stares towards him, and before Stocke could move or speak they charged, their lances ready to skewer him on the spot.

Stocke's feet seemed to be rooted on the ground. Was there nothing he could do? What was it that the twins had said? Something about his Persona. _Baldr,_ Stocke remembered. _His name is Baldr._

Stocke snarled at the three creatures, raising his hockey stick in a semblance of a battle stance. "Help me!" he cried. " _Persona!_ "

There was the familiar and oh-so-welcome sound of glass breaking. A circle of blue light appeared under Stocke's feet as a figure materialized in front of him. Baldr cut through the air with his fiery sword and a wall of flames flared to life, stopping the two knight-shadows in their tracks. Stocke threw up his arms in front of his face to shield himself from the heat and the blinding white light surrounding Baldr.

When the fire died down, the light dimmed as well. Stocke squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look at Baldr. _My Persona,_ he thought, his heart hammering into his chest. The red-clad warrior's hair was not golden as he had once thought; rather, each strand seemed to be made of pure shimmering flame, radiating with an innate sense of raw power. His face was obscured in shadows, the lower part hidden by the high collar of his uniform. Only his eyes, blazing like two pure blue stars, could be seen. The elegant cut of Baldr's attire brought to mind a high-ranked military officer, or rather, a soldier prince of lore, the dark red fabric offset by a trim of gold along the edges. Yet, the cloak that billowed behind him was torn and tattered in some places and a wide array of belts were fastened around his limbs. Baldr dropped into a battle stance, his shield propped forward, his sword gleaming despite the deepening darkness.

There was no hesitation as Baldr leaped forward, bringing his fiery blade down on the closest knight. The other knight thrust his lance forward, but Baldr caught it with his shield. A crack ran down the length of the weapon and the lesser Shadow staggered backward.

Stocke took the precious seconds his Persona had given him to make a run for it, heading directly towards Rosch. The latter had not moved a muscle since the battle between the Shadows and Stocke's Persona had begun. He was pale – paler than Stocke had ever seen him, the skin stretched tautly against his cheekbones, dark circles deepening beneath his blue eyes.

Stocke heard a hiss behind him and he shot to glance to where his Persona was battling the two Shadows. Baldr stood alone in triumph, the defeated forms of his two foes dissolving into black mist. Stocke turned his attention back to Rosch; only one enemy remained. _Him and whatever the hell's behind Rosch…_

Stocke took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. He understood what he'd have to do. Baldr glided over to him, awaiting instructions, like the silent guardian that he was. The two exchanged a glance, but of course Stocke didn't need to voice his plan aloud. The Persona headed straight for Rosch, his blue eyes ablaze with determination. _He's me and I'm him._ It was an oddly exhilarating feeling, almost as if he saw and heard and felt the world through the senses of another.

The lesser Shadow was the final opponent Baldr had to face before he could reach Rosch. Stocke let out a curse as the knight blocked Baldr's advance, deflecting the fiery blade's trajectory with a swipe of its lance. Baldr flipped backward to avoid the weapon as the shadow thrust it forward. The Persona hadn't been fast enough; the tip of the spear grazed Baldr's side. Stocke felt a searing pain in the very same spot and he doubled over with a scream.

From his spot, Rosch twitched. "Stocke? Stocke, 's that you?" His voice was barely audible – the air was still filled with proclamations of _useless, useless, you're useless, worth nothing, nothing at all…_

Stocke struggled back to his feet, snarling despite the pain. "Dammit, you idiot! I told you not to listen to them! Think for yourself! You're not as dumb as you think you are. You hear me?"

As he finished his sentence, Baldr lunged forward, flame bursting from his sword. The blade shredded the knight Shadow's plate mail as if it were plain paper. The monster exploded in a black mist.

Stocke clutched at his side. "Is that you've been thinking through all of these years?" A part of him was shameful that he had never noticed. "Why have you never told us?"

The voices grew to a feverish pitch. _Burden, I'm a burden,_ they clamoured, _can't do anything for myself, dragging all of you down, I'm useless, useless…_

"Rosch" Stocke clamoured over the noises. "Listen to me. _Look at me!_ "

It must have taken Rosch all the strength remaining in his body, but his gaze did meet Stocke's.

"That thing behind you," Stocke said, panting, "it's _lying_. Don't listen to it, dammit!"

A bit of light was coming back to Rosch's eyes. "No… it's all me… it's all mine…" Still, he craned his neck to look behind him. Fear and shock rippled through his face as he finally saw the creature that had sunk its claws into him. Rosch opened his mouth to scream—

 _—except_ it was the Shadow that let out a shriek. The sound reverberated across the emptiness of the gym, tearing at Stocke's eardrums, making the gym equipment and the hospital furniture shake from the sheer power of the vibration. The Shadow's tendrils receded from Rosch's body and the latter tumbled forward like a puppet that had its strings suddenly cut.

"Rosch!" Stocke cried out. He ran to his friend's side, reaching for Rosch's wrist. The pulse was still there but it was faint. "Stay with me, Rosch!"

Darkness loomed over the two of them. The Shadow was now veiled by a thickening, darkening mist. Rosch's gaze focused weakly on the creature. A pair of yellow eyes peered down at him from the dark cloud.

 _Don't you want to change it? boomed_ a deep voice very much like Rosch's. The sound of it echoed in Stocke's very bones. _Don't you want to change it?_

"I… I have no idea what the hell you're talking about…" Rosch managed. "Just… make it stop… I'm so… tired…"

 _I can make it go away. The pain. The anger. The humiliation. Don't you want to change it? Don't you want us to be whole again?_

Stocke tightened his hold on Rosch. "Shut _up_. Rosch, don't listen—"

Rosch's eyes widened in surprise – and in relief, Stocke was horrified to find. "Is it… possible? Can you… really…?"

There was silence from the creature. And then…

… _screeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEECH!_

Stocke's hands flew to cover his ears and he gnashed his teeth in pain. The shriek tore across the entirety of the room. The glass panels on the hospital monitors shattered into a thousand pieces, and the gym equipment was smashed against the walls. Stocke squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his jaw so he would not scream.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see that the mist that once enveloped the creature had evaporated.

The Shadow was gigantic, standing perhaps as thrice Rosch's height. It only had three limbs – two skeletal legs that shook from under the weight of the creature's unproportionally large torso and midriff, and a single arm that was nothing but skin on bones. Dark purple veins ran across the chalk-white limb; they bulged a little every time the Shadow raised its weapon, a lance that was as tall as its own body. A metal collar was fastened around the monster's neck, hiding the lower part of its face. Other mismatched bits of armour protected its body, but the metal was rusted at places and falling apart in others. Beneath a broken crown, a mane of dirty and tangled hair covered most of the Shadow's visage; only one single golden eye managed to peer through long, unkempt bangs. Still, Stocke felt pinned down under the stare.

The left side of the Shadow's body was thicker and larger than its other half. Metal debris and shards of glass were embedded in its left shoulder and in the stump where the left arm should have been. Every time the creature moved even slightly, blood squirted out of the wounds. The Shadow would shake and shriek as the blood dripped underneath it. Stocke couldn't imagine the pain it must have been in.

Rosch's body had gone stiff. His eyes could not leave the creature facing them. His mouth was open in a soundless scream. The Shadow began its slow advance, its movements uncertain, cumbersome. Stocke could feel the ground shaking under him with every of its steps.

Stocke inhaled sharply, putting Rosch's sole remaining arm around his neck and summoning all of his strength to lift him off the ground. "Baldr!" Stocke called out. "Cover our escape!"

The silent protector did as he was bid. He charged toward the Shadow, his shield set forward at an angle to deflect the monster's incoming weapon. Stocke dragged Rosch across the floor for a few feet, before a sharp pain piercing through one of his shoulders. Wincing, he took to his knees, glancing behind him. Baldr had been knocked back as well.

"Baldr!" Stocke shouted through grit teeth. _A spell_ , he thought. _I should have him cast a spell. His sword doesn't have enough range…_

In response to Stocke's silent command, Baldr swept his sword into the air, making a wall of fire erupt from the ground. The Shadow let out a high-pitched screech, stopping dead in its tracks, but no flame managed to touch it. _Dammit!_ Stocke swore. _Still not close enough!_ Baldr was gathering the energy to cast another spell when bolts of blue began to crackle around the Shadow's large form. Stocke quickly understood what was going to happen, and he raised the hockey stick in front of him in a futile attempt to protect himself. The Shadow's lightning spell slithered its way towards him and Rosch.

There was a flash of red in front of Stocke. _Baldr!_ The spell hit the Persona right in the chest. Both he and Stocke arched backward with a single scream that seemed to come from their two mouths at once. Pain scorched through Stocke and for a moment the world went white in front of his eyes.

Stocke could hear a loud _boom-doom_ reverberating through the ground as the Shadow began to move once more. Stocke pushed himself off the floor with trembling arms. His head was swimming. He looked behind him. Rosch was on his knees, staring at the Shadow as it grew closer, his mouth hanging open as if he could not understand what was unfolding in front of his eyes.

With all his dwindling strength, Stocke crawled toward his friend. "Rosch… get out of here... Dammit, run when you still can…"

"I…" Rosch shook his head. "That thing hurt you..."

"That thing," Stocke growled, "is going to kill you if it gets its hands on you. Get up, Rosch. _Run_. I can fight it, but you can't." Stocke hoped Rosch would not hear the desperation in his voice. He wasn't even sure he would be able to land a single scratch on the creature.

"No," Rosch panted, "That thing's gonna kill _you_."

Before Stocke could reply, the large shadow of the creature was draping them both. Stocke swallowed back his fears and looked upon the Shadow with all the hate and revulsion he could muster.

 _Don't you want to change it?_ the Shadow's deep voice asked again. This time, it was slightly tremulous. The creature's torso was glistening with blood. _Don't you want to change it?_

Its long, gaunt arm was shaking from the effort of raising its lance once more. _I can make the pain go away. I know your secret desires. You want me to change it._ It keened shrilly as more blood poured out of its injuries. _You want this to end… Just like me…_

The realization hit Stocke. "The past. When you say you can change it, you mean you can change the past."

The creature threw its head backwards as it screamed. _I can't, I can't, I CAN'T change the past!_ Its golden eye was no longer fixed upon Rosch; it was now quivering madly in its socket. _But I want to change it, I NEED to change it!_

With another shriek, the Shadow raised its now bloody lance over Stocke and Rosch. _I can't change it, but I'll make you forget. It's what you want. You want it to end. You can't lie to me…_

… _I AM YOU AND YOU ARE ME._

Silver and red streaked over Stocke's head as the tip of the lance came down. Stocke cried out for help as braced himself for the impact.

Baldr came in a rush of flames. The lance skewed the brave guardian's shoulder, yet it withstood the assault without flinching. Stocke grit his teeth – the pain was _unbearable_ – before finally screaming at the top of his lungs, _"Baldr! Get that bastard!"_

The ball of flame exploded right into the Shadow's ghoulish face. Its screeches rippled across the gym as it fell backward, the flames still licking the front of its body. Baldr shrugged off the creature's weapon and the lance dissolved into fine black mist before it could even hit the ground.

The Shadow writhed and screamed. Behind Stocke, Rosch let out a grunt. Stocke turned to see that his friend was clutching his chest.

"You're… me?" Rosch said in a weak voice. His features were twisted with anguish and shame. "Yeah… yeah, I guess so."

The Shadow was crying out in agony. Rosch, still on the ground, crept closer to Stocke. His blue eyes were soft with pity. "Dammit, I didn't think I was this pathetic," Rosch said, wobbling to his feet. Stocke immediately went to help him up. "I'm really a piece of work, ain't I?"

"No," Stocke said. "I never thought so."

Rosch smiled sadly. "Yeah?" It was a single word, yet Stocke could hear years' worth of self-hatred in his friend's voice. "Well, I think I am."

"Rosch…"

Rosch limped toward the Shadow. The creature never seemed to notice him. It was still thrashing and moaning, looking half-mad with pain.

Rosch absentmindedly touched his empty sleeve. "I kept telling people I'd gotten better. That I'd learned to live with… _this._ " He sighed. "Since everyone began to believe me, I thought it was true. When you keep telling yourself things, you start to think it's the truth, right? But I _wasn't_ right." He jutted his chin at the Shadow. "I mean, _you_ wouldn't be around, otherwise."

The creature became very still. _But you want to change it. Change it so the accident never happened…_

"'Course I'd like to change it!" Rosch all but roared. "Dammit, I'd change it in a heartbeat. But it won't happen. I'm dumb, but not that dumb." His single hand balled into a fist. "Besides, I'm still alive, which is more than I ever hoped for. I could have died, but I'm still here. I'm luckier than some people I know." He looked at his stump then to the Shadow. "So no, I _don't_ want to change it. I'm… I'm good."

His words were only met with silence for a moment. A delicate blue light surrounded the Shadow's large form.

… _thank you,_ the deep voice murmured. The blue light faded, and suddenly instead of the terrible blood-soaked creature that had been trying to kill them a mere moment ago, there stood a tall, proud-looking warrior clad in red armour. A few onyx stones were embedded in the crimson chest plate, forming the number four in old Imperial numerals. His helm was shaped like the head of a roaring lion and a thick golden man cascaded down his back. He had no left arm, but a large kite shield as tall as he was directly fastened to his stump. The Persona thrust his lance in the air in a salute before disappearing into a flicker of light.

"Tyr," Rosch said with wonder. "That's his name – wait, w-what the hell _was_ that? How did I – _whoa!_ "

Rosch had tumbled forward. Stocke rushed to catch his friend in his fall.

"What the hell was _that?_ " Rosch repeated. "What just happened?!"

"Calm down, Rosch," Stocke said. His friend was still dreadfully pale. "Tyr – well, he's your Persona, I guess."

"My _what?_ " Rosch's face screwed in pain. " _Goddammit_ , my head feels like it's about to explode… what the _hell_ …?"

"We can talk about this later," Stocke said as he helped Rosch towards the exit. "Let's just get you somewhere safe so you can rest." The trails of blood and bits of glass and debris had disappeared when the Shadow had been defeated, but the gym hadn't gone back to normal yet. The walls were still a garish shade of green and there was a lone hospital bed laying on its side next to the door. Stocke frowned; perhaps it would take some time before the Shadow's influence would be fully gone.

"Y-You don't need to carry me like that," Rosch mumbled when they were out of the gym. A bit of red was coming back to his cheeks. "What if someone sees us?"

Stocke stared at him. "Yeah? What then?"

Rosch snorted and rolled his eyes. "I forgot I was talking to you for a moment. You know, the only person in this school who's more socially inept than I am."

Stocke raised a brow but said nothing.

"Thanks, back then," Rosch finally said as they passed rows and rows of lockers. "You saved my skin, man."

"You'd have done the same for me," Stocke said bluntly. "So there's not need to thank me." It seemed to him that the corridor was stretching forever. "Actually, I should apologize." The next words were harder to say than Stocke would have believed it. "You… you were hurting and I never noticed. I never did do a damn thing about it."

"Oh, that." Rosch gave him a tired grin. "It's a bit of my fault, actually. You heard me back there. I thought that if I kept telling myself it wasn't a big deal, then I'd start to believe it. But I guess it was a bigger deal than I would have liked it to be."

"Rosch, losing an arm doesn't make you—"

"—it doesn't make me useless, no, but I sure felt like it." Rosch stopped walking. Stocke peered closely at his expression. "I'm not a bright kid and I'm not exactly good with people. And I really don't want to be a burden to my poor folks. So, I thought to go for the school team and win a scholarship, right? Then I would have gone to college and gotten myself a nice job. That's what I thought."

"Rosch, you can still—"

"— _except_ that was my second choice. The thing I really wanted to do… well, I've never even told you or Sonja."

 _Now_ Stocke was truly stunned. "What was it?"

"What I really wanted… well, I wanted to join the forces." Rosch let out a laugh. "I thought to apply to Officer School. Wouldn't have that made my folks happy? I bet my pa would have been proud. I know he's always wanted to rise higher in the ranks. But now, I know that won't happen. I won't be a soldier and I won't make the college team. So where does this leave me, huh?"

Stocke was at a loss for words. "Rosch…"

"I've had years to make peace with it, yet I never did. I still don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life. I'm not like you or Sonja. What can a dumb kid like me do?"

Stocke glared at him. "Lots of things. If you call yourself dumb again, then so help me, I'll drop you here and you'll have to walk the rest of the school on your own."

Thankfully, Rosch laughed. "Got it."

They began to limp their way through the corridor again. It really seemed never-ending. And the colours on the lockers were all wrong, too, the green being the sickening shade you'd find on hospital walls. No light filtered through the windows. Stocke's heart began to beat a little faster; he could feel the blood pumping painfully against his temples. It was a good deal too early for the sun to be already gone…

"Rosch," Stocke said, tensing, "there's something wrong. Things were supposed to go back to normal after we got rid of the Shadow."

Rosch grew even paler. "Yeah… this place doesn't look the same as usual. What the hell's going on?"

There was only one explanation possible. "There's another of those. Another Shadow."

" _What?"_ Rosch said. "You mean there's another of these things going on around the school? Dammit, it could hurt someone else!"

Stocke's bangs clung to his forehead, slick with sweat. _Can I beat another Shadow? Can I really do it?_ "Yeah. We have to find it."

"And quickly, too!" Rosch seemed on the verge of a freakout. "Sonja stayed after school too, remember? She said she'd help Fennel in the labs."

"She's waiting for us," Stocke said in a thin voice. "We're supposed to drive her home."

A bit of confusion showed on Rosch's face for a moment. "No, she said Rowan was coming to get her, remember?"

Stocke was suddenly cold all over. _No, it couldn't be…_ "Rosch, Rowan can't come to get Sonja…"

"What?! Why wouldn't he – _oh_ , oh shit… oh my God, _no_ …"

The two friends exchanged the same look of sheer horror.

Sonja's brother Rowan had been dead for almost two years now.

* * *

 _ **Author's notes:**_ _…this chapter was supposed to include the fight against Sonja's Shadow as well, but it got so long I had to cut here OTL Sorry for the evil cliffhanger… as always, a big thanks to my beta quicksilver-ink and to all of you readers!  
_


	6. Arcana IV - The Emperor (part II)

_"Only courage in the face of doubt can lead one to the answer."_

 _Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

"Stocke?" Rosch said. "You sure you okay? You don't look so good…"

Stocke's blood ran cold in his veins. The walls stretched and stretched to oblivion, and a strange blackness oozed out of the corners of the gym, but it was Rosch's nonchalant tone that chilled Stocke the most. _He doesn't see anything of this._ How could it be possible? Could the Shadow be so powerful? Stocke gulped down, a lump forming in his throat; if so, how could he even think of defeating it?

The shadow Rosch cast behind him twisted, its edges growing jagged, sharp. Stocke watched in silent horror as it spread the entirety of the wall. Claw-like tendrils sprang from the main body of the shadow; they hung above Rosch's head, sharpening in the shape of a dozen blades. Stocke took a step backward despite himself, his hands curling into fists.

Rosch dropped the ball he was carrying. "What's up, Stocke? You're freaking me out. Stop it, man."

"Rosch," Stocke managed to croak – his mouth had gone so dry, "behind you. That… that _thing_ …"

"What?" Stocke's friend glanced up and down at the wall behind him. He was frowning when he turned to face Stocke again. "I don't see what you're going on about. I should get you home. You really don't seem so well."

Now the shadow's outstretched tendrils were twisting around Rosch, writhing around his sole remaining arm and tightening across his chest. Rosch's features slackened, except for a muscle jumping near the corner of his mouth. Even if he could not see them, surely, he could sense their hold on him.

Stocke hissed out a curse, backing away until his feet caught on something. He stumbled, and would have fallen down had he not grabbed the closest thing his hand could find. Stocke's fingers tightened around the object and he realized with a start that it was the railing on a hospital bed. Stocke fought the urge to rub his eyes, knowing it was not some mirage that would dissipate the instant he looked away. A monitor by the hospital bed beeped weakly, a long thin line flashing and jumping along an invisible someone's heartbeat. A bright light illuminated an operating table splashed with blood. The red dripped to the floor, where it dyed crimson the shards of glass and the scraps of twisted metal that were coiling upwards from the ground. Tire tracks ran across the gym floor, and a trail of old, dried-up blood followed the black marks. Dark memories flooded back to Stocke. In his mind's eye, Eruca's pale arm dangled from the black bag where they had put her corpse. The bile rose to his mouth, and Stocke looked away from the scene of the carnage, shaking from head to toe.

And Rosch stood amidst all of this, his eyes empty and glazed over.

The dark tendrils sank into Rosch's chest. Sweat beaded over his forehead, yet he did not move, did not utter a sound. Dark shapes slithered out of the corners of the gym. The black creatures looked the same as the ones who had attacked Stocke in that alleyway, not long ago, but their masks were purple rather than blue, the top part shaped like a crown.

The three creatures glided briefly towards Rosch, before swirling into the air, dissolving into black mist. When they came into view again, their appearance had changed. It was now a trio of fully-armored knights mounted on ghostly destriers that drifted to Rosch's side. Over their plate mail, they wore basketball jerseys in St. Noah's colours. Behind the purple masks, no hint of emotion showed.

" _Dammit!_ " Stocke's throat was tight with fear. "Rosch, get out of there!"

Rosch seemed in a daze, as if he was struggling out of a bad dream. "What? Why?"

Stocke tried to shout again, but there was a loud _clang_ as the Shadows lowered their lances, the tips directly aiming for Stocke. His stomach did a somersault when he noticed their left arms were missing.

" _Dammit!_ " Stocke growled as the ghostly knights soared towards him. He grabbed the railing of the hospital bed and shoved it, the wheels giving a screech as the bed sped towards the three Shadows. Stocke gritted his teeth and ran; out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Shadows ram his lance into the hospital bed. The bed exploded, the metal shrieking as it twisted and splintered.

"Oh, hell no," Stocke said under his breath. He dashed into the storage room and grabbed the thing nearest to a weapon he could find – an old hockey stick. His hands tightened around the shaft. It was better than nothing, he supposed…

"S-Stocke?" The weakness of Rosch's voice nearly startled Stocke out of his skin. It was so thin, so _feeble_ , nowhere near the deep bass he'd learned to know over the past years. "W-What's going on…? I feel so… tired…"

The three knights sidled closer to Rosch, their tall forms looming over him. The greater Shadow had grown in size. Its shape was more akin to a human, now, and the top of its head was fashioned in the outline of a crown – a broken crown, with chipped or missing prongs.

 _Useless, useless, useless_ , a chorus of voices rippled across the growing vastness of the gym. _Useless broken cripple… You're useless, useless, useless…_

" _What?_ " Stocke shouted. His hands clenched so tightly around the hockey stick that his knuckles went white. "Shut the hell up! Rosch, you know that's not true!"

Rosch's eyes were blank, glassy. He said nothing.

"Snap out of it, Rosch!"

Stocke's exclamation drew the three knights' attentions back to him. Two of them turned their faceless stares towards him, and before Stocke could move or speak they charged, their lances ready to skewer him on the spot.

Stocke's feet seemed to be rooted on the ground. Was there nothing he could do? What was it that the twins had said? Something about his Persona. _Baldr,_ Stocke remembered. _His name is Baldr._

Stocke snarled at the three creatures, raising his hockey stick in a semblance of a battle stance. "Help me!" he cried. " _Persona!_ "

There was the familiar and oh-so-welcome sound of glass breaking. A circle of blue light appeared under Stocke's feet as a figure materialized in front of him. Baldr cut through the air with his fiery sword and a wall of flames flared to life, stopping the two knight-shadows in their tracks. Stocke threw up his arms in front of his face to shield himself from the heat and the blinding white light surrounding Baldr.

When the fire died down, the light dimmed as well. Stocke squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look at Baldr. _My Persona,_ he thought, his heart hammering into his chest. The red-clad warrior's hair was not golden as he had once thought; rather, each strand seemed to be made of pure shimmering flame, radiating with an innate sense of raw power. His face was obscured in shadows, the lower part hidden by the high collar of his uniform. Only his eyes, blazing like two pure blue stars, could be seen. The elegant cut of Baldr's attire brought to mind a high-ranked military officer, or rather, a soldier prince of lore, the dark red fabric offset by a trim of gold along the edges. Yet, the cloak that billowed behind him was torn and tattered in some places and a wide array of belts were fastened around his limbs. Baldr dropped into a battle stance, his shield propped forward, his sword gleaming despite the deepening darkness.

There was no hesitation as Baldr leaped forward, bringing his fiery blade down on the closest knight. The other knight thrust his lance forward, but Baldr caught it with his shield. A crack ran down the length of the weapon and the lesser Shadow staggered backward.

Stocke took the precious seconds his Persona had given him to make a run for it, heading directly towards Rosch. The latter had not moved a muscle since the battle between the Shadows and Stocke's Persona had begun. He was pale – paler than Stocke had ever seen him, the skin stretched tautly against his cheekbones, dark circles deepening beneath his blue eyes.

Stocke heard a hiss behind him and he shot to glance to where his Persona was battling the two Shadows. Baldr stood alone in triumph, the defeated forms of his two foes dissolving into black mist. Stocke turned his attention back to Rosch; only one enemy remained. _Him and whatever the hell's behind Rosch…_

Stocke took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. He understood what he'd have to do. Baldr glided over to him, awaiting instructions, like the silent guardian that he was. The two exchanged a glance, but of course Stocke didn't need to voice his plan aloud. The Persona headed straight for Rosch, his blue eyes ablaze with determination. _He's me and I'm him._ It was an oddly exhilarating feeling, almost as if he saw and heard and felt the world through the senses of another.

The lesser Shadow was the final opponent Baldr had to face before he could reach Rosch. Stocke let out a curse as the knight blocked Baldr's advance, deflecting the fiery blade's trajectory with a swipe of its lance. Baldr flipped backward to avoid the weapon as the shadow thrust it forward. The Persona hadn't been fast enough; the tip of the spear grazed Baldr's side. Stocke felt a searing pain in the very same spot and he doubled over with a scream.

From his spot, Rosch twitched. "Stocke? Stocke, 's that you?" His voice was barely audible – the air was still filled with proclamations of _useless, useless, you're useless, worth nothing, nothing at all…_

Stocke struggled back to his feet, snarling despite the pain. "Dammit, you idiot! I told you not to listen to them! Think for yourself! You're not as dumb as you think you are. You hear me?"

As he finished his sentence, Baldr lunged forward, flame bursting from his sword. The blade shredded the knight Shadow's plate mail as if it were plain paper. The monster exploded in a black mist.

Stocke clutched at his side. "Is that you've been thinking through all of these years?" A part of him was shameful that he had never noticed. "Why have you never told us?"

The voices grew to a feverish pitch. _Burden, I'm a burden,_ they clamoured, _can't do anything for myself, dragging all of you down, I'm useless, useless…_

"Rosch" Stocke clamoured over the noises. "Listen to me. _Look at me!_ "

It must have taken Rosch all the strength remaining in his body, but his gaze did meet Stocke's.

"That thing behind you," Stocke said, panting, "it's _lying_. Don't listen to it, dammit!"

A bit of light was coming back to Rosch's eyes. "No… it's all me… it's all mine…" Still, he craned his neck to look behind him. Fear and shock rippled through his face as he finally saw the creature that had sunk its claws into him. Rosch opened his mouth to scream—

 _—except_ it was the Shadow that let out a shriek. The sound reverberated across the emptiness of the gym, tearing at Stocke's eardrums, making the gym equipment and the hospital furniture shake from the sheer power of the vibration. The Shadow's tendrils receded from Rosch's body and the latter tumbled forward like a puppet that had its strings suddenly cut.

"Rosch!" Stocke cried out. He ran to his friend's side, reaching for Rosch's wrist. The pulse was still there but it was faint. "Stay with me, Rosch!"

Darkness loomed over the two of them. The Shadow was now veiled by a thickening, darkening mist. Rosch's gaze focused weakly on the creature. A pair of yellow eyes peered down at him from the dark cloud.

 _Don't you want to change it? boomed_ a deep voice very much like Rosch's. The sound of it echoed in Stocke's very bones. _Don't you want to change it?_

"I… I have no idea what the hell you're talking about…" Rosch managed. "Just… make it stop… I'm so… tired…"

 _I can make it go away. The pain. The anger. The humiliation. Don't you want to change it? Don't you want us to be whole again?_

Stocke tightened his hold on Rosch. "Shut _up_. Rosch, don't listen—"

Rosch's eyes widened in surprise – and in relief, Stocke was horrified to find. "Is it… possible? Can you… really…?"

There was silence from the creature. And then…

… _screeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEECH!_

Stocke's hands flew to cover his ears and he gnashed his teeth in pain. The shriek tore across the entirety of the room. The glass panels on the hospital monitors shattered into a thousand pieces, and the gym equipment was smashed against the walls. Stocke squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his jaw so he would not scream.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see that the mist that once enveloped the creature had evaporated.

The Shadow was gigantic, standing perhaps as thrice Rosch's height. It only had three limbs – two skeletal legs that shook from under the weight of the creature's unproportionally large torso and midriff, and a single arm that was nothing but skin on bones. Dark purple veins ran across the chalk-white limb; they bulged a little every time the Shadow raised its weapon, a lance that was as tall as its own body. A metal collar was fastened around the monster's neck, hiding the lower part of its face. Other mismatched bits of armour protected its body, but the metal was rusted at places and falling apart in others. Beneath a broken crown, a mane of dirty and tangled hair covered most of the Shadow's visage; only one single golden eye managed to peer through long, unkempt bangs. Still, Stocke felt pinned down under the stare.

The left side of the Shadow's body was thicker and larger than its other half. Metal debris and shards of glass were embedded in its left shoulder and in the stump where the left arm should have been. Every time the creature moved even slightly, blood squirted out of the wounds. The Shadow would shake and shriek as the blood dripped underneath it. Stocke couldn't imagine the pain it must have been in.

Rosch's body had gone stiff. His eyes could not leave the creature facing them. His mouth was open in a soundless scream. The Shadow began its slow advance, its movements uncertain, cumbersome. Stocke could feel the ground shaking under him with every of its steps.

Stocke inhaled sharply, putting Rosch's sole remaining arm around his neck and summoning all of his strength to lift him off the ground. "Baldr!" Stocke called out. "Cover our escape!"

The silent protector did as he was bid. He charged toward the Shadow, his shield set forward at an angle to deflect the monster's incoming weapon. Stocke dragged Rosch across the floor for a few feet, before a sharp pain piercing through one of his shoulders. Wincing, he took to his knees, glancing behind him. Baldr had been knocked back as well.

"Baldr!" Stocke shouted through grit teeth. _A spell_ , he thought. _I should have him cast a spell. His sword doesn't have enough range…_

In response to Stocke's silent command, Baldr swept his sword into the air, making a wall of fire erupt from the ground. The Shadow let out a high-pitched screech, stopping dead in its tracks, but no flame managed to touch it. _Dammit!_ Stocke swore. _Still not close enough!_ Baldr was gathering the energy to cast another spell when bolts of blue began to crackle around the Shadow's large form. Stocke quickly understood what was going to happen, and he raised the hockey stick in front of him in a futile attempt to protect himself. The Shadow's lightning spell slithered its way towards him and Rosch.

There was a flash of red in front of Stocke. _Baldr!_ The spell hit the Persona right in the chest. Both he and Stocke arched backward with a single scream that seemed to come from their two mouths at once. Pain scorched through Stocke and for a moment the world went white in front of his eyes.

Stocke could hear a loud _boom-doom_ reverberating through the ground as the Shadow began to move once more. Stocke pushed himself off the floor with trembling arms. His head was swimming. He looked behind him. Rosch was on his knees, staring at the Shadow as it grew closer, his mouth hanging open as if he could not understand what was unfolding in front of his eyes.

With all his dwindling strength, Stocke crawled toward his friend. "Rosch… get out of here... Dammit, run when you still can…"

"I…" Rosch shook his head. "That thing hurt you..."

"That thing," Stocke growled, "is going to kill you if it gets its hands on you. Get up, Rosch. _Run_. I can fight it, but you can't." Stocke hoped Rosch would not hear the desperation in his voice. He wasn't even sure he would be able to land a single scratch on the creature.

"No," Rosch panted, "That thing's gonna kill _you_."

Before Stocke could reply, the large shadow of the creature was draping them both. Stocke swallowed back his fears and looked upon the Shadow with all the hate and revulsion he could muster.

 _Don't you want to change it?_ the Shadow's deep voice asked again. This time, it was slightly tremulous. The creature's torso was glistening with blood. _Don't you want to change it?_

Its long, gaunt arm was shaking from the effort of raising its lance once more. _I can make the pain go away. I know your secret desires. You want me to change it._ It keened shrilly as more blood poured out of its injuries. _You want this to end… Just like me…_

The realization hit Stocke. "The past. When you say you can change it, you mean you can change the past."

The creature threw its head backwards as it screamed. _I can't, I can't, I CAN'T change the past!_ Its golden eye was no longer fixed upon Rosch; it was now quivering madly in its socket. _But I want to change it, I NEED to change it!_

With another shriek, the Shadow raised its now bloody lance over Stocke and Rosch. _I can't change it, but I'll make you forget. It's what you want. You want it to end. You can't lie to me…_

… _I AM YOU AND YOU ARE ME._

Silver and red streaked over Stocke's head as the tip of the lance came down. Stocke cried out for help as braced himself for the impact.

Baldr came in a rush of flames. The lance skewed the brave guardian's shoulder, yet it withstood the assault without flinching. Stocke grit his teeth – the pain was _unbearable_ – before finally screaming at the top of his lungs, _"Baldr! Get that bastard!"_

The ball of flame exploded right into the Shadow's ghoulish face. Its screeches rippled across the gym as it fell backward, the flames still licking the front of its body. Baldr shrugged off the creature's weapon and the lance dissolved into fine black mist before it could even hit the ground.

The Shadow writhed and screamed. Behind Stocke, Rosch let out a grunt. Stocke turned to see that his friend was clutching his chest.

"You're… me?" Rosch said in a weak voice. His features were twisted with anguish and shame. "Yeah… yeah, I guess so."

The Shadow was crying out in agony. Rosch, still on the ground, crept closer to Stocke. His blue eyes were soft with pity. "Dammit, I didn't think I was this pathetic," Rosch said, wobbling to his feet. Stocke immediately went to help him up. "I'm really a piece of work, ain't I?"

"No," Stocke said. "I never thought so."

Rosch smiled sadly. "Yeah?" It was a single word, yet Stocke could hear years' worth of self-hatred in his friend's voice. "Well, I think I am."

"Rosch…"

Rosch limped toward the Shadow. The creature never seemed to notice him. It was still thrashing and moaning, looking half-mad with pain.

Rosch absentmindedly touched his empty sleeve. "I kept telling people I'd gotten better. That I'd learned to live with… _this._ " He sighed. "Since everyone began to believe me, I thought it was true. When you keep telling yourself things, you start to think it's the truth, right? But I _wasn't_ right." He jutted his chin at the Shadow. "I mean, _you_ wouldn't be around, otherwise."

The creature became very still. _But you want to change it. Change it so the accident never happened…_

"'Course I'd like to change it!" Rosch all but roared. "Dammit, I'd change it in a heartbeat. But it won't happen. I'm dumb, but not that dumb." His single hand balled into a fist. "Besides, I'm still alive, which is more than I ever hoped for. I could have died, but I'm still here. I'm luckier than some people I know." He looked at his stump then to the Shadow. "So no, I _don't_ want to change it. I'm… I'm good."

His words were only met with silence for a moment. A delicate blue light surrounded the Shadow's large form.

… _thank you,_ the deep voice murmured. The blue light faded, and suddenly instead of the terrible blood-soaked creature that had been trying to kill them a mere moment ago, there stood a tall, proud-looking warrior clad in red armour. A few onyx stones were embedded in the crimson chest plate, forming the number four in old Imperial numerals. His helm was shaped like the head of a roaring lion and a thick golden man cascaded down his back. He had no left arm, but a large kite shield as tall as he was directly fastened to his stump. The Persona thrust his lance in the air in a salute before disappearing into a flicker of light.

"Tyr," Rosch said with wonder. "That's his name – wait, w-what the hell _was_ that? How did I – _whoa!_ "

Rosch had tumbled forward. Stocke rushed to catch his friend in his fall.

"What the hell was _that?_ " Rosch repeated. "What just happened?!"

"Calm down, Rosch," Stocke said. His friend was still dreadfully pale. "Tyr – well, he's your Persona, I guess."

"My _what?_ " Rosch's face screwed in pain. " _Goddammit_ , my head feels like it's about to explode… what the _hell_ …?"

"We can talk about this later," Stocke said as he helped Rosch towards the exit. "Let's just get you somewhere safe so you can rest." The trails of blood and bits of glass and debris had disappeared when the Shadow had been defeated, but the gym hadn't gone back to normal yet. The walls were still a garish shade of green and there was a lone hospital bed laying on its side next to the door. Stocke frowned; perhaps it would take some time before the Shadow's influence would be fully gone.

"Y-You don't need to carry me like that," Rosch mumbled when they were out of the gym. A bit of red was coming back to his cheeks. "What if someone sees us?"

Stocke stared at him. "Yeah? What then?"

Rosch snorted and rolled his eyes. "I forgot I was talking to you for a moment. You know, the only person in this school who's more socially inept than I am."

Stocke raised a brow but said nothing.

"Thanks, back then," Rosch finally said as they passed rows and rows of lockers. "You saved my skin, man."

"You'd have done the same for me," Stocke said bluntly. "So there's not need to thank me." It seemed to him that the corridor was stretching forever. "Actually, I should apologize." The next words were harder to say than Stocke would have believed it. "You… you were hurting and I never noticed. I never did do a damn thing about it."

"Oh, that." Rosch gave him a tired grin. "It's a bit of my fault, actually. You heard me back there. I thought that if I kept telling myself it wasn't a big deal, then I'd start to believe it. But I guess it was a bigger deal than I would have liked it to be."

"Rosch, losing an arm doesn't make you—"

"—it doesn't make me useless, no, but I sure felt like it." Rosch stopped walking. Stocke peered closely at his expression. "I'm not a bright kid and I'm not exactly good with people. And I really don't want to be a burden to my poor folks. So, I thought to go for the school team and win a scholarship, right? Then I would have gone to college and gotten myself a nice job. That's what I thought."

"Rosch, you can still—"

"— _except_ that was my second choice. The thing I really wanted to do… well, I've never even told you or Sonja."

 _Now_ Stocke was truly stunned. "What was it?"

"What I really wanted… well, I wanted to join the forces." Rosch let out a laugh. "I thought to apply to Officer School. Wouldn't have that made my folks happy? I bet my pa would have been proud. I know he's always wanted to rise higher in the ranks. But now, I know that won't happen. I won't be a soldier and I won't make the college team. So where does this leave me, huh?"

Stocke was at a loss for words. "Rosch…"

"I've had years to make peace with it, yet I never did. I still don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life. I'm not like you or Sonja. What can a dumb kid like me do?"

Stocke glared at him. "Lots of things. If you call yourself dumb again, then so help me, I'll drop you here and you'll have to walk the rest of the school on your own."

Thankfully, Rosch laughed. "Got it."

They began to limp their way through the corridor again. It really seemed never-ending. And the colours on the lockers were all wrong, too, the green being the sickening shade you'd find on hospital walls. No light filtered through the windows. Stocke's heart began to beat a little faster; he could feel the blood pumping painfully against his temples. It was a good deal too early for the sun to be already gone…

"Rosch," Stocke said, tensing, "there's something wrong. Things were supposed to go back to normal after we got rid of the Shadow."

Rosch grew even paler. "Yeah… this place doesn't look the same as usual. What the hell's going on?"

There was only one explanation possible. "There's another of those. Another Shadow."

" _What?"_ Rosch said. "You mean there's another of these things going on around the school? Dammit, it could hurt someone else!"

Stocke's bangs clung to his forehead, slick with sweat. _Can I beat another Shadow? Can I really do it?_ "Yeah. We have to find it."

"And quickly, too!" Rosch seemed on the verge of a freakout. "Sonja stayed after school too, remember? She said she'd help Fennel in the labs."

"She's waiting for us," Stocke said in a thin voice. "We're supposed to drive her home."

A bit of confusion showed on Rosch's face for a moment. "No, she said Rowan was coming to get her, remember?"

Stocke was suddenly cold all over. _No, it couldn't be…_ "Rosch, Rowan can't come to get Sonja…"

"What?! Why wouldn't he – _oh_ , oh shit… oh my God, _no_ …"

The two friends exchanged the same look of sheer horror.

Sonja's brother Rowan had been dead for almost two years now.

* * *

 _ **Author's notes:**_ _…this chapter was supposed to include the fight against Sonja's Shadow as well, but it got so long I had to cut here OTL Sorry for the evil cliffhanger… as always, a big thanks to my beta quicksilver-ink and to all of you readers!  
_


	7. Arcana V - The Hierophant

_"It is indeed a precious gift to understand the forces that guides oneself."_

 _Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

Stocke realized where he was by scent first – he'd noticed in his prior visits just how _wrong_ the place smelled. He breathed in deeply. It… didn't have a smell, in fact. Considering he was not physically present in the chair where he was currently seated, he supposed it made sense.

He was thus not surprised when he opened his eyes to see a familiar trio in front of him.

Igor greeted him with his characteristic creepy grin. "Welcome, my boy. It is good to see that you've overcome all the hurdles that have been thrown your way."

Stocke closed his eyes with a groan. On the back of his eyelids it seemed as if he could still see Baldr fighting the terrifying figures of Rosch and Sonja's Shadows. It had already been one week since they'd defeated the two creatures, but Stocke still could not think of them without shuddering. He puffed out a slow exhalation through his nose before opening his eyes once more. "Hurdles. Yeah…"

"And in the process, you've gained two allies," Lippti said.

Stocke's fingernails sank into the velvety material of the armrests. "No. I'm not involving these two in this mess. They've already been through enough crap."

Teo lifted a brow. "You would deprive yourself of a precious aid, then. You cannot face this alone."

Stocke rolled his eyes. He could easily imagine Rosch or Sonja saying something similar.

"You know your friends would tell you the same," Lippti continued, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. "You have faced and defeated two Shadows… but your true enemy is human. They will not give up as easily."

"And humans are much more dangerous than Shadows," Teo said. "Shadows wish people no harm: they simply lash out against the outside world so they can be heard, so they can be _seen_. But whoever stole the Black Chronicle might have no qualm about hurting you."

Stocke crossed his arms against his chest, wondering for the umpteenth time just what he had gotten himself into. Rather than voice his thought aloud, he asked, "That time-loop thing… was it the White Chronicle acting up? It kept sending me to the recent past so I could find and destroy the two Shadows, right?"

Something indecipherable flickered in the twins' amber gazes. "You could say that, yes," Teo finally answered in an even voice.

Stocke swallowed back the first reply that came to his mind. _Why are they lying to me?_

"I see. I gotta watch out for more of these repetitions, then?"

"Indeed," said Teo. "Since you hold the White Chronicle, only you will be able to see the little cracks in the Shadows' make-believe worlds."

"And so it will be your task to guide your friends through these ordeals," his sister added.

Igor chuckled. "I do not doubt you will succeed, my boy. You are very perceptive. Much more than you give yourself credit for, at least."

"Heh," Stocke said, "I don't think so." His response only made Igor cackle louder. Despite his misgivings, Stocke found himself smiling and shaking his head.

"Ah, now that's better," Igor said. "I was starting to think that nothing could ever bring a smile to that face."

Stocke snorted. "You reminded me of someone I know for a moment. You two laugh the same way." Igor even looked like an older and more demented version of Uncle Heinrich, although Stocke would never admit it to the latter. The man wouldn't take the comparison well, Stocke was sure.

"I guess I'll need to gather some more info, then," said Stocke. "If that thing used to be in my father's possession, then it might have been used before. Same goes for the Black Chronicle."

A precedent string of unexplained comas was bound to not go unnoticed. Stocke sighed. _Great_. _Investigating_ _all that crap will just take up more time that should have been spent studying._ The exams of the preceding weeks had gone terribly. Stocke knew he'd have to be more careful in the future. If his grades happened to slip up, his family would start to notice the weird (and dangerous) turn his life had just happened to take.

"The White Chronicle has been used several times before, yes," Lippti replied. "The Black Chronicle, on the other hand…"

"It's never been used, then?" Stocke asked.

"It's…" Lippti hesitated. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

"If the Black Chronicle has been used, then we would have no way of knowing it," said Teo.

Stocke's brows furrowed. "What? Why?"

"It's because of the very way the two Chronicles operate," Lippti said. "The White Chronicle shapes the future."

"But the Black Chronicle _changes_ the past," finished Teo. "It is a more powerful tool by a large margin. She gives her bearer the ability to reach any point in time… and from there, they can create an entire new timeline, an entire new _world_ , without anyone else knowing the better."

Stocke couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What? That's ludicrous!"

"The Black Chronicle is also notoriously difficult to awaken," Teo said, "hence why so far we believe she had rarely been used." His expression grew grim. "Hence why people might resort to dreadful means to obtain this power."

"Great. Just… _great_." Stocke was sure he was going to wake up with a headache. "So the chances of me finding that whacko and just convincing them to give me the book dwindled to near zero."

"I am sorry," Teo said. "I wish things were different."

Lippti bowed her head. "We will support you to the best of our abilities."

"Indeed we will," Teo added. "But for now you should just wake up, Stocke."

The non-sequitur threw off Stocke. "What? What do you mean?"

A loud _thud!_ snatched Stocke out of his blue-tinted dreamworld. He snapped upward in his chair – his hard, cheap plastic chair – and gulped down to loosen the twist in his throat. Thankfully enough, it took him but a second to gather his thoughts and realize just where he happened to be. His classmates gaped at him – Sonja's expression in particular could have been comical in another situation. And right next to Stocke's desk, the young, wiry red-haired man looming over him could only be—

"Finally, you deign to join us, Mr. Stocke," quipped Selvan, the social studies teacher. "Surely you know the answer to my question, since you feel confident enough about the topic that you sleep through class."

Stocke stared at the teacher and sat a little straighter in his plastic chair. The class was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

"Then, again, I might be overestimating your understanding of the material," Selvan continued. "Your exam result shows as much."

Stocke's mouth went bone dry. The gazes of the other students were hot on his back. Stocke's friends, however, were instead glaring daggers at the teacher. Sonja in particular looked ready to murder the man on the spot.

"I'm sorry, sir," Stocke managed to articulate. "It won't happen again."

"Mm," Selvan said with a shrug. "Another teacher told me it's not the first time you've been inattentive during class. I guess you've earned yourself a detention. Tomorrow after school, then."

Stocke stiffened. He'd never had detention before. "Sir, I have work tomorrow evening and—"

"Not my problem," Selvan interrupted. He turned his back to Stocke and continued to stroll down the aisle, droning about the delicate power balance of the first democratic government of Granorg. Stocke could barely find in himself the will to give a crap. When the mealtime bell rung out, he all but bolted out of his seat, not even giving the teacher a backward glance as he left the classroom.

"That jerk!" Sonja cried as they reached their lockers. "You should contest this, you know. You usually only get detention after a couple of repeated offenses, I mean!"

"Yeah!" Rosch said. "And what was that bullshit about your exam result, huh? Man, that guy pisses me off!"

Stocke sighed as he grabbed his lunchbox. "It's okay, guys. Calm down." Usually, he would have indeed tried to challenge such a blatant misuse of power, but now… now, he was simply too tired to care. "Let's not make a fuss about this. We have bigger fish to fry, after all."

As his sentence came to an end, he gave a surreptitious glance to his right. Sonja and Rosch followed his gaze. They all could see the fuzzy shape of a lesser Shadow as it crept towards some poor kid trying to open his locker. The thing had been thoroughly thrashed, the work of bullies, no doubt. Sonja hid her mouth with her hands, distressed, while Rosch noticeably paled. Stocke had almost been relieved when he'd realized they could see the Shadows as well. After nearly a month of thinking he was going mad, it was a welcome reprieve.

They chose a lone, forgotten table at the edge of the cafeteria and spoke in hushed tones as they ate. Occasionally, Sonja would freeze as a student passed by; she would then goggle at them in a strange and decidedly un-Sonja manner.

"Uh, Sonja?" Stocke asked her. "Is there something wrong? You've been pretty… out there since we've left class."

His words startled her. She turned to gawk at Stocke. "Oh!" Sonja said. "Oh, I guess I'm being a little weird, yes."

Rosch and Stocke exchanged a look.

"Care to, um, explain, then?" the latter said.

Sonja flushed, her lips curling in a sheepish grin. "It's hard to understand, even for me, but… with Hlín – my Persona, I mean – I can sorta see, um, _things?_ "

"That's," Stocke said, "well, that's not very… _specific_."

Sonja let out a groan. "I mean, like information and stuff. I just can't make heads or tails of it."

"What kind of information?" Rosch said as he slurped down his noodles.

Sonja hesitated for a moment, before she answered, "Well, Hlín tells me, um, what kind of Arcana people have."

"Arca-what?" Rosch asked, the same time Stocke said, "Arcana? Like in tarot?"

"Yes," Sonja clarified. "Hlín seems to associate some people with a specific tarot card. Like the social studies teacher, Selvan. She tells me he's a Hierophant. It's the fifth Arcana."

"Oh." Rosch gulped down his mouthful of noodles. "Okay."

"With some other people, I don't see anything. Like your uncle, Stocke. He doesn't seem to have an Arcana. Most people are like that, actually."

Stocke shrugged. "What it's supposed to mean?"

"I honestly don't know," Sonja answered. She looked at Rosch. "I know that you're the Emperor and that I'm the Empress. I think it's got something to do with Personas."

"What about, Stocke?" Rosch asked. "What's his Arcana?"

Once again, Sonja appeared to hesitate. "It's number 12. The, um…" She averted her eyes from Stocke. "The Hanged Man."

* * *

Stocke immediately headed to work when classes ended. His shift would not start for another hour, but staying at school to do his homework had not been an option for the better part of a month now. It was hard being productive when you knew some soul-sucking monsters were watching your every move from the shadows.

Thankfully, no shadowy abomination thought to stalk Stocke as he made his way to the bookstore. In fact, since his first monstrous encounter nearly one month ago, he never stumbled on another Shadow outside of the school grounds. The streets and alleyways were instead filled by kids playing and roughhousing. Stocke remembered that there was an elementary school nearby – across the street from the bookstore where he worked, in fact.

As he turned a corner, closing in to his destination, Stocke caught sight of a group of squabbling elementary schoolers.

"What's taking her so long?" one girl grumbled. "Why can't we just go?"

"We told her we'd be here," answered one of her friends. "Wait, isn't that her?"

Across the street, another elementary-school-aged girl was lingering on the sidewalk. She looked both sides of the road before scurrying toward her friends. Stocke noticed the horns protruding out of her head and her long, pointed ears. Her emerald hair was bunched up in thick pigtails. _A Satyros_ , Stocke noted. That was rare. There weren't a lot of Celestian denizens living in Alistel.

"There you are!" one of the girls exclaimed as the Satyros child reached their midst. "What took you so long?"

The Satyros glanced down at her hooved feet. "I couldn't find my pencil case," she said, her little face scrunching up in a frown. "I'm sure somebody stole it."

None of her friends seemed particularly interested in her excuse. "Why would anybody steal your pencil case?" another of the girls asked. "You probably just dropped it somewhere. You've always been a bit scatterbrained, Aht."

The girl called Aht gave no reply. As he passed next to her, Stocke offered the kid a sympathetic glance. In response, she gaped at him. Stocke could still feel her gaze on him as he walked away.

"I'm starving!" he heard one of the girls say. "Let's go get something to eat!"

"Aw, but I don't have any money," another whined.

"Just ask Aht," a third girl said. "She can repay you later, right, Aht?"

There was a silence, then: "I can't!" said the Satyros. "I'm trying to save up my allowance to buy a book that came out this week!"

Her friends gave a collective groan. "Come on, Aht, don't be stingy!" the first girl said. "Your family's loaded! I'm sure your uncle would buy you the book if you just asked!"

Stocke was too far away to hear Aht's response. As he pushed the door to the bookstore, he sighed. _Some things never change, huh…?_ At that age, kids could be such a pain. He was glad that his elementary and middle-school days were far behind him.

Mr. and Mrs. Norton, his two bosses, welcomed him with benevolent smiles. They understood right away when Stocke told them that he'd be stuck in detention after school the next day.

"It's okay, don't beat yourself up over this," Mr. Norton said. "You could always come in a little late. At least so you can grab a bite before your shift starts."

His wife gave a wobbly little nod to show her approval. "You're such a good, hardworking boy, Ernst, my dear. Don't you worry about us."

"No," Stocke said, shaking his head, "I'll try to come in at the hour you asked. I'll just get something from the convenience store next door for dinner."

Mrs. Norton gave him an affectionate pat on the back. "If you say so, sweetie. Don't push yourself too hard, now."

The rest of the night passed by at a snail's pace. Still, it was a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle that now filled Stocke's life. He never particularly liked interacting with the customers at the bookstore, but now they seemed liked the purest of pure angels compared to the _things_ that awaited him each morning at school. Unholy abominations made of pure darkness were a bit more intimidating than the resident put-upon suburbanites and the occasional self-proclaimed intellectuals, after all.

The next day, Stocke devoted every ounce of energy left in his body to stay awake in each of his classes. When the time came for his detention, Sonja and Rosch offered fond and supportive farewells. Their concern was a bit annoying, in truth. Here Stocke was, eighteen-year-old and nearly in college, stuck in class after school re-transcribing some choice passages extolling the virtues of the Prophet (the text _must_ have been an idea of Principal Hugo's, Stocke was sure of it). He could almost feel his brain matter oozing out of his ears with every passing minute.

Stocke shot out of the classroom the moment the supervisor allowed him to go. He grabbed his things from his locker, then ran out of the school, not slowing down until he'd reached the street where the bookstore was located. Stocke stopped in front of the convenience store he'd spotted the day before, cursing as he looked at his watch. He was already late.

After a bit of deliberation, Stocke went inside, thinking that he could at least find something that would sustain him for a couple more hours; his stomach was already making its displeasure known. He glared at the sparsely filled shelf, then finally chose the one lone sandwich that wasn't all squashed. Stocke threw the poor thing on the counter and searched for his wallet. He was about to pay when he finally caught sight of just who happened to be behind the cash register. The girl's grin spanned the entirety of her face.

"Hey!" Eruca's friend Raynie said. "Long time no see! You're Eruca's bro, right?"

"Yeah," Stocke replied as he handed the money to her.

"Talk about dumb luck!" Raynie said. "Who would have figured we'd be meeting each other out of school, huh?"

"I work at the bookstore next door," Stocke explained. He grabbed his sandwich. "I really should go. I'm already fifteen minutes late."

"Really? When does your shift end?"

Stocke met her gaze, blinking. "At… nine?"

Raynie leaned on the counter. "Wow! Me too! We could totally meet up after work, right?"

Stocke looked askance. "I'm going home directly afterwards. It's a school night."

"I know, I know!" Raynie said with a chuckle. "But we could wait for the bus together – you're taking the bus, right?" As he nodded, she added, "Cool! I could smuggle some snacks from the back store, if you want. My boss would never notice, heh!"

 _Now_ , Stocke was truly mystified. "Uh, okay, sure."

"Great!" She gave him two thumbs-up. "See you soon, then!"

Stocke left the store in a bit of a daze, not sure what to make of the entirety of that conversation. He'd managed to scarf down half his sandwich when he entered Mr. and Mrs. Norton's place. He offered a quick apology to the old couple before eating up the rest of his meagre dinner.

Like the preceding evening, it was a slow night. He chatted with the clients with little enthusiasm, directing them to the objects of their query with forced, feeble smiles. He was rearranging the books in the window display when he spied something from outside the store that made him frown. The Satyros girl from yesterday was looking back at him from behind the glass, her lower lip wobbling. Around her, strangely enough, was an assortment of brightly coloured school bags.

Stocke hesitated for a moment before finally opening the door. "Hey," he told the kid. "You okay, kid?"

In response, she froze and clutched the strap of her neon green backpack a little tighter.

"Right," Stocke said. Maybe he could have tried to come off a little less creepy. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

He was about to slip back inside the store when she spoke up.

"No!" the Satyros child said. "It's okay. You surprised me, I guess." Her lips quivered into a weak smile.

"I wasn't sure if you were a customer or not," Stocke replied. "You can come inside and browse if you want to. You don't have to buy anything."

"Oh…" She shuffled her feet. "I'd like to buy something, but I can't go inside. I promised my friends I'd look after their bags."

Stocke quirked a brow. "They can't look after their own bags? Where are they, anyway?"

"Well, we all stayed after classes to work on the school pageant and then my friends wanted to go for a milkshake." The girl gestured to a nearby dairy bar with her chin. "But I didn't feel like having a milkshake. I'm saving up to buy a book, see? So they told me I could stay here."

Stocke sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Was it really that difficult to carry their bags themselves? How long have they been gone?"

The kid's face darkened. "I don't know. Half an hour, maybe? I wish they'd come back. I'm a bit cold. And tired."

"Your friends shouldn't be treating you that way," Stocke said, blunt. "That sounds like bullying to me."

The Satyros evaded his gaze; her own eyes were starting to well up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Stocke said. "That's what it looks like, anyway." He slowly inhaled before adding, "I know a thing or two about bullying."

The girl knitted her brows together. "You don't seem like the kind of guy to be bullied at school," she said with a sniff.

Stocke's lips twitched in a fleeting smile. "Not at school, no."

Her big green eyes widened a bit. Stocke was surprised that she understood his meaning so quickly.

"You know what," Stocke said, "I have an idea. Since I work here, I can buy books at a discount. Tell me what you're looking for, and I'll get it for you. You can pay me the balance afterwards."

The Satyros girl gasped. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah," Stocke assured her. For a moment, he entertained the idea to tell her to just break her promise and leave her friends' bags unwatched. Still, it wasn't his call to make. "Just tell me which book you want, and I'll bring it to you."

The girl clapped her hands together, delighted. "Thanks!" She hopped a bit on her hooved feet. "What's your name?"

"Uh… you can call me Stocke," he told her, a bit bewildered by her sudden inquiry.

"I'm Aht! Nice to meetcha!" She appeared to scrutinize him for a bit. "You're really more interesting than most teenagers I've met, you know!"

Stocke was halfway through the doorway when he spoke back to her, "Just how many teenagers _have_ you met?"

Her giggles were her only reply.

* * *

The evening air was refreshingly cool. Stocke's eyes were immediately drawn to the sky above; the moon cast a soft, silver gleam, while hundreds of tiny stars pinpricked the heavenly canopy. Stocke was so absorbed by the sight that he nearly forgot he had made plans to meet up with Eruca's friend. He leaned by the door to the convenience store and waited for her, passing the time by finding all the constellations he knew.

"Hey!" Raynie said as she finally joined him. "Nice night, huh?" She rummaged through her tote bag and grabbed a couple of chocolate bars and a bag of chips. "Sweet or salty? It's your choice."

"Salty," Stocke said.

"That's good with me! I'm more of a sweet tooth myself." Raynie gave him the bag, then took a bite out of a chocolate bar. "So, you're Ernst, right?"

Stocke shoved a few chips down his mouth before answering, "Yeah. But most people call me Stocke."

Raynie laughed. "Really? That's unfortunate. I mean, think of all the terrible puns I could come up with that name."

By now they had reached the bus stop. Stocke shot her a warning look. "Don't you dare…"

"Hey, don't worry, I'm not that cruel. Besides, I'm beat. I've wasted all my energy re- _stock_ ing the shelves these past few hours."

Stocke groaned. Raynie let out a few horsey guffaws.

"Sorry, dude," she said after she'd stopped snorting. "That'll be the first and last time I'll make fun of your name. I just had to, at least once."

"I'm used to it, now," Stocke said, not without some good humour. "I'll manage."

"I knew you would," Raynie replied. "You look like you're made of stern stuff. Like your sis, I guess. She's a real trooper, that one.

Stocke ate a few more chips. "Mhm." He was pleasantly surprised that she had such a good grasp of Eruca's character.

"So, is it fun to work at that bookstore?" Raynie asked him. "I've seen the two owners a couple of times, they seem like swell people."

"Yeah, they're nice. Place's not half bad, either."

"I guess you don't get saddled with a ton of moronic customers either, huh?" Raynie said. "My opinion on the whole of humanity's dropped dramatically since I've started working at my place."

Stocke snorted. "I don't think I'd be able to stand it, if I were in your shoes. My standards are already too low for that."

Raynie snickered again, nearly choking on her mouthful of chocolate in the process. "At least, the pay's okay," she said. "Hockey gear's really expensive, you know? And I don't want to be a bother to my foster family."

Raynie was smiling as she spoke, but now Stocke found that he could not return her expression. _Her foster family, huh…?_ It would have been rude to pry further, however. "Yeah. I get what you mean."

From the end of the street, the headlights of a bus peered through the evening gloom.

"Well, that's my ride," Raynie said as they peeked at the number flashing above the windshield. She looked at Stocke expectantly.

"Mine'll be here in about five minutes," Stocke told her.

"I guess it's goodbye, then." She gave his shoulder a light punch. "It was great to see you, dude. Til next time."

Stocke shrugged. "See ya. And thanks for the snacks."

Raynie offered him a coy little salute before climbing up the bus. Then, she was gone.

* * *

For some reason, Stocke woke up the next day in a surprisingly good mood. His cheer seemed infectious; when he came down to help prepare breakfast, his mother started singing and sashaying to the horrifyingly catchy tune that was playing on the radio. Eruca was soon giggling and nearly snorting milk out of her nose. When Uncle arrived, Sophia waltzed up to the doorway and attempted to drag his sorry behind back to the kitchen for a bit of impromptu dancing. The man did not give in to her demands, but his protests intersected with cackles. Stocke couldn't help but hide a secret grin at the chaotic display. Yes, Uncle Heinrich really did sound like Igor when he laughed.

Rosch and Sonja were surprised, but pleased that his detention hadn't sunk his spirits so much. Rosch burst in laughter when Stocke told him just what he'd been forced to do ("I remember copying that verse too! Man, my hand hurt like hell for the rest of the week after that!") while Sonja had been touched by what he'd done for the little Satyros girl ("I hope she'll be able to confide in an adult… what a dreadful situation!").

The second period was spent in the library researching things for a class project. The English teacher, student-favourite Raul Gualtierrez, was one of the two faculty members whom everybody called by his first name, the other being the gym instructor in Eruca's year, Viola Aldebrandi. Raul was not one to breathe down his students' necks, so Stocke was mostly left alone to his devices. Despite that, he could not help but feel vaguely guilty as he looked up anything but the materials asked for class. Still, whenever he glanced back to the teacher, Raul only gave him vague smiles before going back to his grading.

So far, Stocke's investigation proved to be fruitless. At first, he sought cases that most resembled the situation at hand, but it soon became apparent that it would be as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack. Stocke then narrowed his search to the area where was located the high school that his father had attended – Granorg's Royal Academy for Gifted Youngsters, one of the most prestigious institutions in the Granorgite capital. Yet, once again, nothing came up.

After a while, Stocke opted instead to look up the mythological figures that seemed to form the basis of his friends' Personas. Tyr, of course, was an easy one to find. The old Imperial folklore had many warrior divinities, chief among them the one-armed god of heroic deeds. Sonja's Hlín was a bit more obscure. Most described her as a deity of protection and compassion, but some deemed her to be only an avatar of the Imperial pantheon's mother goddess, the wise, grief-stricken Frigg.

Stocke opened tabs on all the old Imperial deities he could find. He was so deeply engrossed in a description of a god named Heimdallr that he noticed only at the last possible second that someone was reading over his shoulder as well.

A startled Stocke spun in his chair, scowling as he realized just who was standing behind him. "Uncle. I thought I told you to stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?" the man said, his voice barely above a whisper. Of course, he did not have the decency to get rid of that infuriatingly smug smirk of his. Did he enjoy creeping up on people? Stocke was starting to think it was the case.

Stocke drummed his fingers on the desk. It was no use to explain to the man why such behaviour might come off as annoying in typical human societies. Uncle only heard whatever he wanted to hear, anyway. "We're in class right now. I'm kind of busy."

"Oh, I was just looking for some documentation myself," Uncle said. "Besides, the library is a public place, isn't it? Not to mention, but I'm also a teacher. I can come and go whenever I want."

Stocke fought back a groan, instead choosing to remain silent.

Uncle's gaze went up and down the screen. "Ancient Imperial mythology, eh? I didn't know you had an interest in the subject."

"It's for an essay," Stocke lied.

"I see." Uncle Heinrich looked at the two webpages that currently showed on Stocke's computer. "Heimdallr and Hod. The all-seeing sentinel and the blind murderer. You couldn't have picked two more different gods than that, hmm?"

"Hod isn't a murderer," Stocke muttered. "He was tricked."

Uncle gave a low chuckle. "He still threw the spear that killed Baldr." His features showed a hint of melancholy. "Poor Baldr… his only contribution to the Imperial myths is dying so the other gods can kick off the end of the world."

Stocke shivered despite the warmth of the library. "It's Loki's fault for manipulating Hod. Hod didn't want to kill his brother."

Uncle's face was stuck in a bizarre, almost grotesque expression. "…well, you could say it's just one interpretation amongst many."

This time, Stocke could not stop a sigh from escaping his mouth. "You really should be going. We're not allowed to speak in the library, remember? I don't want to bother everyone else."

"Alright, alright, I'll go," Uncle said; despite Stocke's rudeness, his tone was still amiable. "Good luck with your schoolwork."

"Mm." From the corner of his eyes, Stocke watched the man's retreating back. Then, recalling the roadblock his earlier investigations had encountered, he suddenly got out of his chair.

"Uncle, wait!" Stocke followed after the man. "I just remembered something I wanted to ask you. This might come a bit out of nowhere, but… my dad went to the Royal Academy when he was younger, right?"

Uncle Heinrich's remaining joviality immediately dissipated. "He did, yes."

"What about you? Do you remember anything weird about your high school years? Like, creepy, unexplained stuff?"

Uncle tightened his jaw. "I did not go to the Royal Academy. My parents sent me to a public school. Niflheim High. A miserable, underfunded place, it was. And now I'm sorry, but I must really go."

Uncle Heinrich's harsh, _bitter_ tone left Stocke unable to reply. The other students in the library were starting to stare. From his desk, Raul stood half-risen from his seat; he frowned as Uncle Heinrich all but stormed out of the library.

Stocke scrambled back to his chair, uncomfortable with the attention now directed at him. _What the hell was that all about?_ He hadn't known Uncle had gone to a different school than his father. His grandparents had counted among the wealthiest of Granorg's elite: why had they sent their youngest son to an apparently terrible public school while his brother had enjoyed what was touted as the best education in the whole country?

Stocke's hands hovered above the keyboard for a bit. On a lark, he typed in the name of his uncle's high school in a search engine. He was ready to write off this new attempt as another failure when several results popped at the top of his browser. The blood drained from his face as the meaning of the words that appeared on his screen sank in his mind.

 _Granorgite public school closed after failed investigation_ , one story declared. Stocke noted the date. It had been written twelve years ago. _School officials caught up in a scandal after several unexplained deaths_ , another website claimed. Stocke's breath hitched. He scrolled down to another article.

 _Five high-school students died this morning at Granorg Central Hospital, one week after being found in comatose states on school grounds – physicians are left mystified as for the cause of death._

Stocke leaned back into his chair, head spinning. _What is this supposed to mean?_ He thought about the two kids who had already fallen prey to the Shadows' sway. _What's going to happen to them?_ In his mind's eye, he saw their family, their friends, waiting anxiously by their bedside, hoping, _praying_ for them to open their cold and heavy settled in his stomach as he imagined instead what would happen once the jagged lines representing their heartbeats would straighten into a flat stroke, what would happen once the steady _beeps_ of the monitors would die down to a stretching, dull note.

Teo and Lippti's warnings crept from the back of Stocke's mind. _Your true enemy is human_ , they had told him. Was there a link between the current attacks on the students of St. Noah's and the events from twelve years ago? If so, was Stocke's unseen enemy the one who had caused those five deaths?

Stocke swore under his breath. Of course, things couldn't have been easy. Of course he had to go against a possibly homicidal maniac.

 _And of course I had to get involved,_ Stocke thought wryly, _because that book_ had _to drop into my lap somehow._

No wonder Stocke's Persona was based on the unluckiest bastard in the whole of the Imperial pantheon. It was simply a reflection of his master being the biggest sucker this side of the continent.

* * *

 **A/N** : Why, yes, the owners of the bookstore happen to be the Alistellian equivalents of Bunkichi and Mitsuko from Persona 3. I loved these two so much, they were so adorable...


	8. Arcana VI - The Lovers

_"There is both joy and wonder in coming to understand another."_

 _Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

"You sure you're not just overreacting?" Sonja told Stocke soothingly. "I mean, yes, these five deaths are freaky, but…"

"Maybe there's no link between this case and what's happening now, huh?" Rosch added. "And even if there was, it doesn't mean that we're going up against someone with five murders under their belt… right?"

Stocke groaned, passing a hand through his hair. The constant clamour of the other students as they spoke and laughed and shouted was starting to weight down on him. He'd always hated the noisiness the school cafeteria. "I don't know. It was just… this feeling that I had."

Sonja's smile wavered "Maybe you're right. It's just, well, that I really hope that you're _wrong_."

"I know," a dejected Stocke said.

"You could always needle your uncle for some info," Sonja proposed. "These events happened after he graduated, but maybe he still knows something."

Stocke scoffed. "No. Not happening. If he ever catches a whiff of what's happening to me, I'll have him breathing down my neck the whole year."

"What about the two kids who were attacked by the Shadows?" said Rosch. "They've woken up yet?"

Sonja leaned on her steepled hands. "No, I don't think so. The first kid is at my parents' hospital. Her name is Mimel Desjardins. She's still in middle school…" Her voice had lowered to a horrified whisper.

"What about the other one?"

"He's called Bram Crow," said Stocke. "I've talked to his brother a couple of times. There's nothing unusual about these two, as far as I can tell."

"The attacks happened before school started, right?" Sonja pondered. "Why were they on school ground even though the semester hadn't begun?"

Stocke leaned back into his chair with a sigh. "Sonja, do you think we could visit that girl? I don't think we'd learn anything, but…"

"It's worth a shot." Sonja replied with a shrug. "Maybe Hlín can tell me something new."

The first bell rang out, interrupting their conversation. Stocke, Sonja and Rosch gathered their things in silence amidst the chaos of their surroundings. Across the cafeteria, Stocke caught sight of his sister. Next to her were her friends Marco and Raynie. The black-haired girl was gesturing wildly, making Eruca laugh in response. Stocke's features softened for a bit. Soon, he lost sight of them in the thickening crowd.

Math class was a chore to slog through, and so was phys ed. Coach Garland was well loved by the student body, but he just could not understand that Stocke was a lost cause when it came to team sports. Stocke have never saw the appeal in throwing a ball around. He was looking forward to the next semester, where they would finally switch from soccer to track and field. At least it wouldn't be expected of him to work on his social skills then.

After the end of the last period, Stocke made a beeline for the most beaten-up pick-up truck in the school parking lot. Rosch had bought his car from Sonja's grandfather; the old man had lovingly kept the ancient thing in working order for several decades. In a show of goodwill, Mr. Silverberg had also paid for the driving aid that allowed Rosch to travel the roads safely. Now that he was retired, it was Sonja who continued her beloved _opa'_ s meticulous maintenance. She loved the venerable vehicle as much as he did – or perhaps even more.

Stocke's two friends were already waiting for him next to the car.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Rosch asked as they all climbed inside. "We're not family or anything. Are we really allowed to go in her hospital room?"

"We just have to be sneaky," Sonja said. "If there's any trouble, let me take care of it."

Rosch shot Sonja a bewildered look through the rear-view mirror. "Wait, you want us to break the rules? You chew me up every time I just _think_ about not handing in my homework. Who are you and what did you do with our Sonja?"

Stocke crossed his arms in front of his chest, a corner of his mouth quirking in a half-smile. Sonja huffed a little.

"Just drive," she told Rosch dryly.

"Yes, ma'am!" Rosch said, with a touch of unnecessary zeal.

* * *

The lobby on the first floor had been decorated with a homely touch, making the hospital a more welcoming place than it truly had the right to be. Cute, huggable plushies were lined in a neat row behind the front glass of the gift shop. A corner of the waiting room boasted brightly coloured walls that were covered with friendly-looking cartoon characters. A few children were seated there; they played in eerie silence under the exhausted gazes of their parents.

The clerk at the help desk presented a wide smile to Sonja as she walked up to him. Stocke did not return the guy's amiable expression, although Rosch managed a feeble grin. Soon, thanks to Sonja's prodding, they obtained the number to Mimel's room and indications as to how to get there. Stocke kept his head lowered as they travelled to their destination. Next to him, Sonja moved stiffly, uncharacteristically quiet. Thankfully enough, none of the hospital staff seemed willing to pay them any mind.

Stocke's eyes flicked from one room number to the next. He quickened the pace when he noticed they were getting closer. That was a mistake; he was so absorbed by his task he rammed headfirst into someone as he turned a corner. Stocke bit down a curse, muttering an apology instead. His unfortunate victim only came up to his chest. The chubby, bespectacled boy adjusted his kitten-eared woollen hat with a grumpy expression before looking up at Stocke. Something that resembled alarm settled on his features.

"Marco?" said Stocke as he recognized the kid. "It's Marco, isn't it?"

Marco had gone red as a fire hydrant. "Y-Yeah. I remember you. You're Eruca's brother, r-right?"

Stocke noticed he was carrying a plush mouse. Sonja's expression softened at the sight of the toy.

"F-Funny seeing you here," Marco stuttered. "What are you guys doing?"

"We're, uh, visitin' someone…" Rosch mumbled back.

"What about you?" said Sonja.

Marco clutched his plush toy against his chest. He hadn't met their gazes once. "I was leaving, actually," he replied in a squeak. "Uh, see you at school, I guess?"

And before Stocke could reply, the boy had scuttled away.

"He's one of Eruca's friends, isn't he?" Sonja asked Stocke. "I think I saw him a couple of times at school."

"Mh- _hm_ ," Stocke replied laconically.

"Poor kid," said Rosch. "I wonder what's gotten him so freaked out."

"And why he's such in a hurry," Stocke added. He eyed the door closest to him. It bore the room number they'd all been looking for. "We should make this quick. The visiting hours are nearly over."

Sonja nodded and pushed open the door. Without a word, Stocke and Rosch followed her inside, the latter nearly bumping his head on the low doorframe.

The curtains had been drawn, leaving the room in only the faint light of a flickering fluorescent bulb. The small, slight form of a sleeping girl was laying in the hospital bed, her pallid skin stretched tautly across her cheeks. Her hair was dyed a vivid shade of green; still, upon closer look, Stocke could see quite a bit of brown showing at the roots. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Nothing unusual appeared on the EKG monitor, the faint sound of her heartbeat beeping in a steady rhythm. Sonja puffed out a loud exhalation through her nose.

"Nothing seems out of the ordinary," was her prognostic. "Although…" She inched closer to the girl. "I – well, Hlín – kind of sense something…"

"What is it?" said Stocke.

"It reminds me of… of a Shadow," she elaborated, lower lip trembling. "Oh my god… there's… there's a Shadow _inside_ of her!"

"Goddammit!" Rosch growled.

"Can we get it out?" Stocke said sharply.

Sonja shook her head slightly. "I… I don't know… It doesn't feel like the other Shadow I've seen. My Shadow was so… chaotic. _Aggressive_. This one… well, it's as if it just wants to stay put. Like it's dormant, but not dead."

Gently, she took one of Mimel's hands. Behind Sonja, Stocke could spy a shimmering silhouette. Hlín hovered a bit above the ground, her form barely discernible in the gloominess of the room.

"So, the Shadow's not doing anything?" asked Rosch. "Why is she still in a coma, then?"

Sonja did not answer. Her face grew whiter by the second as she continued to gaze at Mimel, mute with horror.

Stocke moved to touch her shoulder. Before he could open his mouth and say something, however, the door slid open. A nurse looked up from her clipboard. She frowned as she caught sight of the three teenagers shuffling awkwardly around the hospital bed. In the blink of an eye, Sonja was flashing her a syrupy smile. In contrast, Rosch looked like he'd just been caught in the middle of some sordid crime. Stocke's expression remained stone.

"Visiting hours are over," the nurse said, her voice tinted with suspicion. "I'm sorry, kids, but I'm going to ask you to leave."

In a scatter of little blue lights, Hlín disappeared. Sonja gave a nervous little giggle. "I-I see. We were about to leave anyway. S-Sorry about the inconvenience…"

"It's no big deal." A sad little smile played on the nurse's lips. "It's good that she gets people comin' over. Poor dear…"

Stocke's eyes were drawn to the figure sunken in the mattress. A lump formed in his throat as guilt washed over him. Of course he could not tell the nurse, but in truth they had not come here to offer Mimel some much needed company. Stocke silently apologized to the sleeping girl for the deception.

They left Mimel's room in uncomfortable silence. Sonja walked ahead of Stocke and Rosch at a brisk pace, her face still flushed with shame and misery. Stocke threw occasional glances at Rosch. The latter's face mirrored Stocke's own worry.

After the three of them had gotten into Rosch's truck, Stocke finally addressed Sonja.

"So, what else have you found? You saw something else through Hlín, right?"

Sonja seemed to mull over Stocke's words as Rosch started the car.

"I wouldn't know how to describe it," she told Stocke. "The Shadow's definitely doing something to her, but I don't know what it is." She massaged her temples and groaned. "And now my head's _killing_ me…"

"We'll get you home so you can get some rest," Rosch said as he drove them out of the hospital parking lot.

Sonja gave another peeved grunt. "This would be easier if I just knew what I was looking for! Ugh, this is like looking for a needle in a haystack!"

Her words were met with more silence on Stocke and Rosch's parts.

"That nurse didn't see Hlín," Stocke said suddenly.

"Yeah," Rosch's fingers drummed along the edges of the steering wheel. "That was weird. Figured she'd say something about some giant lady made of light, huh?"

"I'm not surprised," Sonja added. "I mean, no one ever noticed the Shadows at school, right?"

"It's true," Stocke confirmed. "I guess it's the same for Personas."

Sonja sighed. "Well, that's a nice thing to know, but that doesn't tell us anything useful, now, does it?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Rosch said. "I just think we should take a break for now. My brain's turning to mush."

"Yeah," Stocke agreed. He closed his eyes, sensing a weariness settling in his bones. "I'm the same. Let's worry about this tomorrow."

* * *

Still, the next day brought nothing new to the table. The lesser Shadows continued to prowl the school grounds, never showing any hint that they might be under the sway of a more powerful member of their kind. Still, at the end of the day, Stocke made a careful patrol of the surrounding area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was only on the next morning that they finally obtained some much needed answers.

The moment Stocke caught sight of Sonja before the first bell rang out, he knew something was amiss. She spent the first two periods in an obviously inattentive mood, leaving Stocke ill at ease. When came lunch break, she dragged Stocke and Rosch out to the school courtyard with no explanation, ignoring their interrogations in a rude manner that was very unlike her. They sat down in a secluded corner, far from the prying eyes of the other students.

"I, uh," Sonja began, "I've looked into Mimel's case a bit and…"

"Looked into Mimel's case?" said Stocke. "What do you mean?"

Sonja looked askance. "I, well, I've taken a peek into her medical files—"

Rosch's eyes popped a little. "You _what?_ Sonja, you could have landed into some big trouble!"

"I know, I know," Sonja replied, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "But desperate times call for desperate measures, right?"

"So, what does it say?" Stocke asked.

Sonja wrung her hands together. "There's… _nothing_. Nothing's wrong with her. She didn't suffer from a lack of oxygen or a stroke or any other medical reason that would explain why her nervous system just shut down. Her blood tests and CT scans show nothing abnormal. Physically speaking, there's nothing wrong with her. And yet, through Hlín I could sense that she was… fading away. As if the Shadow was… was…" She could not complete her thought.

"…as if it was feeding on her?" Stocke ventured.

Sonja looked downward, a choked sob escaping her lips. Rosch patted her arm. He'd gone abruptly pale as well.

"Still, her brain activity remains very high," Sonja managed after a while. "And I got the impression that she was… _dreaming_ through all of this."

 _Dreaming,_ Stocke thought. For some reason, he remembered the vacant, faraway look in Sonja's eyes when she'd been all but certain that her deceased brother had come back to life. His stomach gave a lurch at the memory.

"That's all I could find," Sonja finished in a weak voice.

"It's already a lot," said Rosch. "Damn! To think that could have happened to us!"

"We need to be careful, then," said Stocke, "to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else." He glanced significantly at his bag, where, squeezed between a manual of integral calculus and a thick treatise about Alistellian history, the White Chronicle could be found. "Keep an eye out for people acting weird. It'll probably be the first sign that a time loop is about to start."

Rosch and Sonja both gave a grim nod. Around them the noises of typical school life went on, the other students unaware as always of the dark events unfolding within their midst. Stocke sent them a sweeping look. This time, who would be the unfortunate victim to fall prey to a dark, twisted mirror of their deepest desires? He paused on each face, feeling a knot forming in the pit of his belly.

 _To get the answer to that question,_ Stocke mused _, I guess that means I've got to mingle more_. Immediately as the thought crossed his mind, he sighed and buried his head in his hands.

 _Dammit_. _We're screwed. We're so screwed._

* * *

"Ernst! Ernst! Over here!"

Stocke dragged his feet to where his sister was waiting, far away from the crowd that was amassing outside the school entrance. Next to Eruca, Raynie was waving enthusiastically. Marco, on the other hand, was distinctly looking anywhere but in Stocke's direction.

"Heya!" Raynie said when Stocke reached the three of them. "It's good to see you, Stocke! How are you doing?"

"Fine, I guess," Stocke said.

"Rosch and Sonja didn't come with you?" Eruca inquired.

"They had to stay after school, because…" Stocke racked his brain to find a suitable excuse that wasn't, _'They're patrolling the place to see if anyone is possessed by an evil shadow monster.'_ Nothing came to mind. "Because… reasons."

Eruca blinked owlishly at him. "…huh?"

Stocke stifled a grunt of annoyance. He had wanted to accompany Sonja and Rosch on their search, but his two friends had all but bullied into leaving when classes had ended. Sonja had told him it was because she was worried he was not getting enough rest these days. Stocke knew instead it was because they didn't want his socially inept self to get in the way of their investigation.

"So you'll be coming home with Uncle and me, then?"

Stocke agreed in a mutter. Sonja and Rosch had promised to keep him updated on the situation at hand, but it didn't mean he was happy to be so useless.

Raynie flashed the two siblings a grin. "Then, I guess it's goodbye," she said. "Marc, you free tonight? Or d'you have practice with the band?"

"Huh?" Raynie's question seemed to have caught Marco by surprise. Until then, he had been staring forlornly to the side. "Um, n-no, I don't have anything planned…"

"Great! Do you think you could help me study for Prof. Heiss' next test? The guy's a friggin' _sadist_ , I tell ya." Raynie grinned stupidly at Stocke and Eruca. "Uh, I meant no offense, you guys."

"None taken," Eruca replied, while Stocke fought the urge to say, _'You don't know half of it.'_

"Do you want to go to your place?" Marco asked Raynie. "Or would you rather go to mine?"

"Yours," Raynie answered. "My foster mom's doing some kind of fundraising event tonight for charity and stuff, and I'd rather not get in the way."

"…your _foster_ mom?" Eruca said in a puzzled tone. The moment the words left her lips, she clasped her hand in front of her mouth, her cheeks growing crimson. "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to pry…"

Raynie snickered. "Pff, don't sweat it! It's no big deal!" Next to her, Marco pinched his mouth, his brows coming together in a knot.

"Well, let's get going, Marc!" Raynie eventually said, cutting through the tension now hanging in the air. "See you tomorrow, Eruca! And I guess we can catch up with each other on your next shift, huh, Stocke?"

"If you say so," Stocke told her.

"Good luck on your studying!" Eruca added. When Marco and Raynie were out of hearing range, she sent Stocke an inquisitive look. "What's that about your next shift?"

"She works at a store next to Mr. and Mrs. Norton's place," Stocke explained. "Her shifts often end at the same time as mine."

"Oh, I see. She hadn't told me." After a while, Eruca bit down her lip in a sheepish manner. "I guess I have to study for Uncle Heinrich's exam too, huh? I did well on the first test, but…"

Stocke snorted. "You could just ask him for some insider's tips. I'm sure he'd be happy to help. Gleeful, even." The man had certainly been eager to offer his aid when Stocke had been among his students. It had been annoying, even.

"Ernst, I don't think he'd let me _cheat_."

"Speaking of the devil…" Stocke jutted his chin at the parking lot, where they could see a certain familiar silhouette heading for their uncle's car. "…here's our ride home." His lips nearly twitched into a mischievous smirk. "Remember to ask him about exam questions. He'll tell you everything. Really. I'm not kidding."

Eruca elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut up," she grumbled. But there was a smile playing along the edges of her mouth as well.

* * *

"So, nothing, huh?"

"Nope," Rosch said as he slumped over his desk. "Nothing, nada, zilch."

"People gave us plenty of funny looks, though," Sonja said, her lips stuck in a forced smile.

"Yeah, well, that's probably on me," Rosch griped. "You're plenty popular, Sonja, so I guess the other kids don't find it weird if you start asking around. Me and Stocke, we're kind of nonentities, socially speaking…"

"Rosch, don't you think you're exaggerating _just_ a little?"

"Let's talk about this later," Stocke muttered, cutting off Sonja before she could finish her thought. Selvan, the social studies teacher, was starting to write down things on the chalkboard. "Class's about to begin."

This time, Stocke summoned all of his remaining energy to stay focused on Selvan's lecture. Still, whenever the man passed by Stocke's desk (which happened quite often, Stocke was displeased to find), his face always twisted in a sneer, almost as if there was some unpleasant odour floating in the air. Stocke never met the teacher's gaze, unwilling to bring himself more trouble. Besides, he would have never managed to top Sonja's fine glare. If looks could kill, then Selvan would have died a thousand times over under her formidable assault.

Her display of loyalty was a silver lining in otherwise another boring day. Once more, Rosch and Sonja volunteered to stay after school to keep watch over the local infestation of Shadows, while a rather grumpy Stocke left for work.

When he stepped inside the bookstore, Stocke was greeted by a child happily calling out his name. Little Aht bounced over to him, her arms overflowing with books. Since their meeting almost two weeks ago, she had started to hang around the bookstore every day after school. Mr. Norton had jokingly said he'd soon have to hire her as an additional employee. Still, Aht never really stayed for long; after a while, a luxury car with tinted windows would always come to pick her up in front of the store.

Aht kept on babbling as the clock ticked. Stocke only listened to half of what she was saying; she was going on and on about some cartoon she'd started watching.

"And they all wear costumes, so no one knows that the monster hunters are actually a bunch of high-schoolers, but then one of the villains finds out about my favourite character's secret identity, so—"

Periodically, Stocke grunted in assent to indicate that he was following her rather convoluted story. Cartoons nowadays appeared to have grown rather complex, it seemed.

"Hey, Stocke…?" Aht suddenly said, startling him out of a daze. He hadn't even noticed she had stopped rambling. "If you were living a double life fighting a bunch of monsters, would you tell me? Would you trust me with the secret?"

Stocke goggled at her. Her comment was a bit too much on the nose for comfort. "… _what?_ "

Aht's gaze was fixed on him in an unsettling way. "Would you?"

"That would defeat the purpose of a secret identity, wouldn't it?" Stocke answered. "Where does this come from, Aht?"

She laughed; the sound was too high-pitched, too shrill, to be genuine. "Oh, you know, I was just wondering! Sometimes, I wish real life was more like a book or a cartoon. Wouldn't it be great if we could go on an adventure and stuff?"

From outside came the sound of a car honk. Aht spun her hooved feet toward the entrance of the shop. The black car was parked in front of the bookstore. One of the tinted windows was lowered, showing a sunglasses-wearing Gutral sitting behind the wheel.

"I gotta go!" said Aht. "It was fun speaking with you, Stocke! Say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Norton for me!" After one last grin, she all but hopped out of the store.

Not a lot of customers showed up after Aht's departure. Still, when Stocke closed up shop, he was feeling weary to the bone. When he stepped outside, the cold evening air whipped at his face, sapping the air right out of his lungs. Perhaps Sonja was right, Stocke realized. Maybe he really needed to get more rest.

As expected, Raynie was waiting for him at the bus stop, sipping a bottle of coca as she sat on the sidewalk.

"Hey," she said simply as Stocke slumped down next to her. "You look beat, man."

Stocke's reply was a mumbled, monosyllabic noise.

"I feel ya," Raynie said, nodding. "I'm the same. High school is beating my ass black and blue. Thank goodness I've got Marc, or I'd never be able to pull through otherwise."

A low chuckle rumbled in Stocke's chest. "You two seem close enough."

"Heh. The band geek and the dumb jock girl. Who would have thought? He even roped me into playing Dungeons & Dragons a couple of times, can you imagine?" Unexpectedly, Raynie then sighed. "He was the only friend I had in middle school. I haven't lived in this city for long, y'know? I moved in just last year when they put me in my current foster home."

Her good humour was marred by a frown. Still, in the span of a blink, it was gone, and she was smiling again.

"At first, all the cool kids wanted to be my friend, since I was new and stuff." Raynie snorted. "Didn't last for long. Two weeks after I transferred, I got into a huge fight with some assholes who'd been bullying Marco. As a result, everyone started to think I was some raging psychotic bitch. But I got Marc as a friend out of it, so I'm really the winner here."

Stocke's mouth formed a fleeting half-smile at this candid statement.

"So he's like the brother I've always wanted, even though he gets on my nerves, sometimes."

"That's how it is with siblings," said Stocke. "Speaking of someone who's got a little sister."

"You're lucky," Raynie blurted out. "To have a sibling, I mean."

Even in the dim light of the street lamps, Stocke could tell that her cheeks had coloured up a little.

"It's a bit lonely, having just one friend, though," Raynie admitted. "So I'm glad to have met you and your sister." She shifted a bit on her seat, looking suddenly self-conscious. "Tell you what, dude, this week-end, the cinema club at school is putting on a B-list horror movies marathon. There's gonna be some of my favourite classics. Marc's not into that sort of thing – hell, if he shows up at school, I bet it'll be to practise his clarinet like a good, proper nerd. So, uh, do… do you want to go with me? That kind of flick gets boring fast if you're not in good company."

Stocke frowned. He wondered why she was asking him, of all people. "I don't know. I've got some school stuff I need to catch on."

"Oh. Okay." Raynie bowed her head slightly; her bangs fell all over her face, making her expression impossible to read. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make things awkward."

Stocke didn't know what to answer. A sudden and inexplicable sense of guilt twisted his guts. He scratched the back of his head, his cheeks warming up as well.

"Uh," Stocke eventually said. "I can give you a call if I change my mind?"

In the distance, two buses were approaching. Raynie jumped to her feet, her hands gripping the straps on her bag rather tightly. Stocke noted that her face was still quite red.

"See you at school, then," she said in an unusually hoarse voice as the first vehicle came to a stop in front of them. "Have… have a nice night, Stocke."

"You too," Stocke mumbled. He climbed into the second bus in a stiff motion, head abuzz with a slew of bizarre, contradictory thoughts.

* * *

The next morning, Stocke's brain was still annoyingly fuzzy. To make matter worse, the moment he and Eruca got out of the teachers' parking lot, Raynie scurried over to them, Marco trailing behind her like a sullen and silent puppy.

"Good morning, you two!" she said brightly. "Sheesh, Stocke, you look like you've been hit by a bus. You sure you're up to go to school, man?"

"Didn't sleep well," Stocke explained in a croak. "Listen, about tomorrow…"

Raynie cocked her head to the side. "Tomorrow? What about tomorrow?"

Marco's gaze went heavenward. "Is this about that stupid movie marathon? The one you couldn't shut up about?"

"Did you find someone to go with you?" Eruca asked.

Stocke opened his mouth to reply, but Raynie interrupted him.

"Yeah, my brother and my sister say they'll come. My mom wanted to go too, but she works on Saturdays. She doesn't look like it, but she sure loves her gorey movies!"

Stocke felt the blood drain from his face. _Huh…?_

"Your brother and sister?" said Marco. "Which ones?"

"The two eldest, the ones who are in college. Like hell my parents would let my younger brother and sister to go see R-rated movies. They're not even out of elementary school yet!"

Stocke took an involuntary step backward. _No, no way…_ His legs had grown limp as a pair of noodles. _Damn_. _I gotta find Rosch and Sonja fast_.

"Ernst?" asked Eruca. "Are you okay? You don't look so good…"

Stocke swallowed down his initial burst of fear and said in a thick voice, "I have to go. I promised Rosch and Sonja I'd be meeting them soon."

Under their bemused gazes, Stocke hurried inside the school. Swearing under his breath, he looked over the heads of the other students, hoping to see Rosch's large frame standing out in the crowd. The only attention Stocke managed to get was sadly not the kind he wanted to attract. The Shadows that normally clung to the sides of the entrance hall were peeling off the walls. Dozens of bright yellow eyes fell upon Stokce as the creatures slithered toward him.

Stocke's breath filtered through his mouth in a low hiss. Stiffly, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Rosch's number, ignoring the Shadows seeping through the students entering the school in troves.

"Hey," was all he said after Rosch picked up, "I think I found what we were looking for. But I might have picked up a few stragglers along the way." Cold sweat trickled down his brow as he carefully went back the way he came. "Let's meet up outside before they all decide to jump me."

* * *

"We're gonna miss the first period, you know?" Sonja told Stocke as she leaned against Rosch's truck. The three of them had all agreed to meet in the school parking lot; Stocke had been relieved to find that the Shadows hadn't been willing to follow him so far from the main school building. "God, this is the first time I've played hooky in my life. What would my mother say?"

"We've got bigger worries," Stocke gently admonished her. "I think the Shadow we've been searching for is possessing my sister's friend."

"How do you know?" Rosch asked. "Did one of these weird time loop things happen again?"

"No," said Stocke. "but she was acting kind of fishy just now. Raynie kept talking about her siblings." He took a deep breath to keep himself steady. "Except I don't think she has any. She told me several times she lived in a foster home.

"She might have siblings in other foster families," Sonja countered. "It's rare, but it's not unheard of. Or maybe she was talking about adopted siblings?"

"Maybe," Stocke conceded, "but I think it's a bit of a stretch."

"We should keep a close eye on her, then," Rosch said. "Do you think we could ask your sister for help?"

Stocke rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We could. But then I'll be dodging her questions for the next month or so. Eruca's not dumb."

"It's better than to let this poor girl handle this on her own," said Sonja. "And you said that the Shadows were being more aggressive than usual too, didn't you, Stocke?"

Stocke nodded. "Yeah. The only way we'll get them off our backs is to ignore them. So act natural."

Rosch and Sonja exchanged a bewildered look.

"I mean it," Stocke said. "We should get back and act as if everything's going as usual. Besides, Dias is teaching the second period. You know he'll throw a hissy fit if we skip his class."

"Do you even have a plan?" Rosch said, his voice heavy with incredulity. "Beyond marching back to a place infested with frickin' _monsters?_ "

"First off, let's see if this day keeps looping," Stocke told him. "If not, then I know how we could get hold of Raynie without having the whole of the student body getting in our way. We'll deal with her Shadow then."

"How?" Rosch and Sonja said simultaneously.

Stocke ran his thumb over the buttons on his cell phone. "You guys feel like binging on a couple of B-list horror movies tomorrow morning?"

* * *

The alarm clock blared next to Stocke's ear, snatching him out of the pleasantness of sleep. Immediately after silencing the hateful object, he stumbled out of bed to reach for his cell phone.

 _Saturday, 8:11 A.M_., the letters and numbers read on the screen. Stocke flopped back on his bed with a sigh of relief. There had been no loop; Friday had come and gone, and today was the start of the week-end.

Stocke quickly got dressed and rushed downstairs to grab a little something to eat. In his hurry he nearly stepped on poor Musket's tail. Through his mouthful of toast, Stocke addressed a jumbled apology to the poor hissing kitty.

"You're already up?" came Eruca's voice. Stocke's sister was curled up in a sofa with a book in one hand and a cup of steaming tea in the other. "What's the world coming to?"

"I've got to be at school soon," Stocke replied. "I promised your friend Raynie that I would go with her to that movie marathon."

Eruca gawked at Stocke. Behind him, Stocke could hear the _scritch-scratch_ of wheels scraping against the wooden floor; he turned and saw that his mother, still sitting in her computer chair, had rolled out of her office. She was looking at Stocke with her mouth dangling open in an unflattering way. Stocke cursed under his breath. Of all the times she could have chosen to wake up early on a Saturday morning...

"You're going on a date?" Sophia squealed.

"No. I'm going to see a movie."

"With a girl," Sophia said. "You're going to the movies with a girl."

"Does it make any difference?" a deadpan Stocke replied. "I've gone to the movies hundreds of times before with Rosch. Friends go see movies together. That's a thing."

"You're friends with Raynie?" asked Eruca, the same time their mother grabbed her face with both hands and exclaimed, "You _are_ going on a date, omigosh!"

"I barely know her," Stocke said, "so no, I guess I wouldn't call her a friend. An acquaintance, maybe." Obviously, he could not tell his mother that he was actually trying to see if the acquaintance in question was the host of a parasitic monstrosity.

Sophia jumped out of her chair to give Stocke a light swat on the shoulder. "Are you calling your date only an acquaintance? You cold, cold man!"

Stocke squinted his eyes at her. "That's how it is. I'm not about to start making things up."

Eruca appeared unsatisfied with his answer. "Is that why you asked me yesterday to keep tabs on—"

Stocke silenced his sister with a frantic look. He grabbed his coat and slid his wallet in his back pocket. "I should go. Don't wait for me for lunch and supper." Before they could place another word, he opened the door and headed outside.

"You treat her good, you hear me?" Stocke heard his mother call out from behind.

 _I will, don't worry_. Stocke wrapped his red scarf tighter around his neck, cursing the typical coldness of an October morning. _That is, unless she_ really _is possessed by a soul-sucking abomination._


End file.
